Roll the Bones
by Araceil
Summary: Hired to investigate the no longer derelict Phantomhive Estate, Harry gets caught up in something more annoying than Squatters when he finds himself blackmailed into being the Housekeeper. Slash, Crossdressing, Quiet!Competent!Perceptive!Immortal!Harry, Sebastian/Harry, Lizzie/Ciel.
1. That Butler Perplexed

**ROLL THE BONES**

_I do not own Harry Potter, Kuroshitsuji, or Neverwhere. They are property of JK Rowling, Yana Tobosa, and Neil Gaiman. This is fanfiction, be prepared to have your canon horribly, horribly, raped for my enjoyment and discretion._

**Hired to investigate the no longer derelict Phantomhive Estate, Harry gets caught up in something more annoying than Squatters when he finds himself blackmailed into being the Housekeeper.**

Warnings: Slash, Crossdressing, Quiet!Competent!Perceptive!Immortal!Harry, (Surprise!)!Undertaker. Sebastian/Harry, Lizzie/Ciel.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER ONE**

**That Butler... Perplexed**

The moon was high and the night was crisp and bitterly cold the way that only a dry and cloudless night could. December had descended with a vengeance upon the British isles, frost rimming the edges of fallen leaves and moss buds, clouding glasses and highlighting gargoyles perched upon their flint and lead roofs. It wouldn't be long before a blanket of white would descend upon the small island nation, an unusual but celebrated event. Many a privileged child was hoping and praying for a White Christmas, a wish that looked as though it were going to be granted by the mercurial grey and black clouds overhead. While those less fortunate, those who prayed for warmer winds, would sadly be disappointed.

Stalking on silent feet through the undergrowth, fingers, toes, and ribs aching with cold, Harry Potter wasn't far off from one of those less fortunate individuals in hoping for warmer winds to blow his way.

Carefully climbing the frigidly cold drain-pipes, he made his way onto the roof of the elegant old mansion. This was, perhaps, not his most intelligent, or carefully chosen jobs. But employment had been thin on the ground and for a young man of dubious background and no letter of introduction, there wasn't much that one could do without resorting to... underground professions. True he could have quite easily become a servant in some small out of the way humble household, but when you had spent _so long_ fighting, it was next to impossible to turn those instincts off. He knew that any attempt to do try and pretend otherwise would fail the moment he almost snapped the neck of a homeless youth who attempted to mug him.

This mansion had formerly been a burnt out wreck. His employer, a man of some standing, had been looking to purchase the land for some reason that Harry hadn't listened to, and then suddenly, the building was repaired to its former splendour and inhabited. He had sent men to be rid of whatever squatters that had taken residence, only to have none of them return. When he sent more out, he had the misfortune of having some of the bodies dumped in the near-by town, bloodied, broken, and clearly dead from precise and deep slashes. No gun wounds. Knife wounds, perhaps a sword? Either way, he didn't know who had taken up the former Phantomhive Estate, but given how the corpse of the child who had once called this place home had never been recovered, and how the Lady of the house still had a living sister – currently in London working as a Doctor – he didn't want to cause offence or lower his standing in polite society by continuing his behaviour of sending Thugs to their door had a true legitimate owner to the home returned. He had been at his wits end, unwilling to give up on the property just in case it simply was a case of Squatters, and then a friend introduced him to Harry. Which brought him here. Moving across the roof like a spider for a pay-packet that he was considering asking a tip for given how _freezing_ cold it was.

He wasn't to enter the property, just ascertain who had taken up residence in the formerly dilapidated mansion. Given how usually he was being asked to murder certain individuals, Harry was thankful for the change of pace. He had never been comfortable with the idea of cold-blooded murder. But times had changed, as had he. Things he would have never considered in his youth were now, sadly, necessary evils for survival. It was both amazing and strange how your outlook changed with age and experience. And there was only one man who had more age and experience than him, and he had gone on his Next Great Adventure some many, _many_ years ago.

There... didn't seem to be anyone in the house though. Not even any servants, despite the fact that all the lights were on and the rooms were not only impeccably clean, but also somewhat lived in. A discarded book here, a dirty glass on a coaster there, a scuff-mark on a waxed floor. The house was definitely occupied. And it _had_ to possess a large number of staff for its upkeep. It was just... after several hours of clambering over slate and lead roofing – flawlessly clean roofing, not a speck of moss or lichen to be seen – he hadn't seen a single soul whenever he flipped over to peer through the windows.

Over an hour of creeping, of stinging, hot, and strained fingers, of dizzy-spells as blood rushed to and from his head, and aching muscles from clinging to the roof, he finally hit paydirt. A study on the first floor, it's curtains still open, and the soft sound of voices.

Gripping the decorative window frame, Harry flipped over, eyes scanning the room, and the occupants swiftly. Fire place to the left, bookcases lining every wall, large grand desk in front of the window, papers stacked neatly here and there, black tea in fine chinaware, and sitting with his back to him was a young boy clad in white and blue. A strip of fabric wound around his face, hiding one eye. His hair was a curious shade of black that looked almost charcoal-blue. His skin was pale and flawless in the same way a china doll was. Opposite him stood a tall dark haired man, clad in traditional Butler's regalia. Impeccable dress, shiny black shoes, and a thin, aristocratic face with all the cunning of a fox, complete with bastard's smirk. He wasn't close enough to see, but Harry could swear his eyes were red. Or perhaps a particularly rich shade of hazel. It was hard to say. He had such long eyelashes.

Hauling himself back onto the roof, he flexed his fingers for a moment, blowing on them to try and regain some feeling in the frigid digits, shivering in the cold before rolling his shoulders and returning to the matter at hand. He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket – the particulars of his job, and double-checked his information. Hermione was the one with the photographic memory for things she'd seen, he still needed a cheat sheet so to speak when it came to information. On the other hand, what his mind lacked, his body made up for in spades. Once he had successfully done something, it would remain in his muscle-memory for years to come. Very useful.

Right, so. This _clearly_ wasn't the Lady of the House's younger sister, the widowed Baroness Durless. Which meant the only remaining legitimate owner of the property was the currently missing twelve year old heir, Ciel Phantomhive. A reportedly sickly young boy engaged to the sole daughter of Alexis Leon Midford, head of the British Knights Order. Harry snorted quietly. He knew that being a Knight in this day and age was actually something worth having, where as back in his time, any Celebrity the Queen liked to a sufficient degree could be Knighted. Heck, even he was Knighted, which only went to show how pointless it had become when a Murderer was given such a thing.

Regardless. He checked the picture that came with his information. Dark hair, that same shade of charcoal-blue. Slender and petite, much in the same way Harry himself had been at that age, though clearly better taken care of. Large, as in dominating, blue eyes. Pale skin. And likely wearing a blue diamond ring set in silver or platinum. A family heirloom and the symbol of the Phantomhive Earldom. In a word, the boy was blue. Baby blue.

Opposite him, the vivacious woman with her scarlet hair and lips, in her red dress trimmed in black lace, the infamous Angelina Durless, the widowed Baroness and Aunt to the young boy. A Doctor at the Royal London Hospital – admirable, and clearly an exceptional woman given the time period when women were to be breeding-factories, keep quiet, and look pretty. That she not only was recognised as a Doctor, but was able to be so vivacious and social a creature and not have it impact upon her career or her standing in polite society only spoke all the louder for her abilities in medicine and just how well thought of she was.

Tucking both paper and pictures into his inside breast pocket, he gripped the roofing once again and swung himself upside down once more. Peering through the glass. Well, the boy matched the physical description, with the exception of the eye-patch. Though, his fingers were ba-

On his thumb!

Blue diamond on a silver band. That was definitely it, right down to the cut of the gem and the almost sapphire shade that caught the light. There was a second ring as well, golden, ah, the Phantomhive family crest. Yes, this was him. Ciel Phantomhive, rightful owner of the Estate.

Wait... The Butler was gone. Hm, he would have to be extra careful as he left if one of them was wondering around. Probably gone to get a refill on that tea, Harry thought enviously. Warm, hot tea. It sounded glorious. He sighed once more as he pulled himself up, deciding that, either way, that was his job done. All he had to do was report back, collect his money and be on his way. He would have to make himself a cup of – no, a _pot_ of tea, lovely hot vanilla tea with a generous dollop of honey, and drink it all to himself as he curled up in front of the fireplace of the room he'd rented at the shady Opium den he now called home.

"Well, well, well," a rich baritone voice purred barely an inch from his ear, vice-like hands landing on his shoulders even as Harry's whole body seized with shock, his blood momentarily turning as cold as the tiles beneath his fingers. "It looks as though the Young Master's vermin problem is as never ending as usual," the voice continued.

Harry twisted, even as he fell back, letting gravity take him. It was the Butler, smirking his bastard's smirk, with eyes the colour of cinders and blood.

Adrenalin hit his system like a freight-train and the world stood still. Red eyes. That was _never_ a good sign. No matter the time, or place.

"_Expelliarmus_!" he commanded, throwing an arm out and flinging the Butler across the roof. He didn't stick around to watch him gracefully flip over and right himself before landing in an elegant crouch, his polished black shoes skidding just a little on the frosted roof. Harry was already throwing himself to the side in a roll that took him off the roof and skidding down the tiles into a convenient balcony below.

Well, one aspect of his job was over. He had been discovered. All he had to do now was get the hell off the property and back to London. Once there, if he were still being pursued, he could quite easily lose his shadow in the rat-warren of sewers that were his second home. From there he would contact his employer.

Until then, all he had to do was escape.

Landing hard, he sprung back up and vaulted over the balcony's railing, grabbing at tree-branches as he descended to the ground. The springy wood slowing him enough that when he hit the ground and rolled across the frosted grass, he didn't even receive a bruise.

He had a split second as he rolled to his hands and feet to realise the Butler was in front of him and flung himself to the left – dodging the axe kick aimed at his head by a bare inch.

The man's foot dug into the iron hard frozen ground with alarming force and Harry felt his blood-chill at the display of inhuman strength before he was off, running with every ounce of speed his muscles could produce.

He hung-low to the ground, legs pumping hard, his arms trailed behind him – he couldn't afford to waste energy moving them as well, he may need them to defend himself at a later point. His eyes flickered every which way, checking his footing and surroundings at a speed that would make most professional Quidditch Players dizzy unless they were Seekers.

Black caught the edge of his vision and he didn't hesitate to dive to the side, only, the Butler had been expecting it and a low sweeping kick tripped him. Harry tumbled and rolled. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he realised his back was facing the Butler, and his blood chilled.

"_Reducto_!" he yelped, forcing the spell down onto the ground, bracing his hands as the recoil thrust him violently backwards and into the air. Green eyes widened as a silver knife missed his nose by centimetres. That had been aimed for the back of his neck!

The force of the spell recoil had him flipping through the air and catching the sturdy branches of a tall oak. He twisted, holding the bark hard enough that he felt the skin on his fingertips shredding as he flipped up and landed on his feet. This was more acrobatics than he was used to, or appreciated! His back and stomach were going to _hate_ him tomorrow morning!

He certainly wasn't expecting the branch he was crouched on to suddenly not be there.

Harry yelled in shock as the ground rose up beneath him, the Butler having destroyed the tree-branch beneath his very feet.

He hadn't even hit the ground before one very finely cobbled shiny black shoe, with its hard wooden heel, slammed into his side – snapping his upper-arm like a twig and throwing him like a rag doll across the soggy undergrowth.

He couldn't stop the scream that tore from between his lips as the bone was wrenched painfully out of place and tore through both muscle, tendon, and vein as he rolled over and over, landing in a heap.

Ashen white with pain, dizzy and gasping for breath, he still staggered to his feet, his free hand instinctively moving to his bicep only to hiss and cringe in pain and revulsion as he felt the jagged bloody edge of bone beneath his fingertips. The break by itself would have been fine, but the throw and consequent hitting of the ground and rolling hard managed to twist and tear the lower half of his arm – and thus the bone – out of his flesh.

He couldn't stop shaking.

Suddenly, a gloved hand cupped his mouth, compressing the fabric of his face cloth against his mouth. Harry started and cried out against the Butler's hand as a second hand cruelly grabbed at his broken arm. A sinister chuckle filled his ear as he felt the frame of a tall adult male press against his back, smelling of ash, and cooking cocoa.

"You are a quick, little bird, with an interesting little song," the Butler admitted, not that Harry heard him. The man was viciously kneading his broken arm, Harry was deaf and blind to anything but the pain as he went wholly limp in the red eyed man's grasp. "But our little game of Cat and Mouse now has to come to an end. I'm sure you understand."

Harry had a moment of clarity when he recognised the told touch of a blade against his neck before his neck and chest felt abnormally hot and wet. He hit the ground and stared at the vivid scarlet staining the leaves in front of him, feeling light headed and dizzy.

He... that bastard had just slit his throat.

_**000**_

Sebastian flicked the table-knife he had used to cut the little bird's throat clean of blood.

Such an interesting little Song-Bird. Lovely eyes as well, he noted as he began his brisk trek back to the mansion. The local wild-life would do away with the body quickly enough. Still. He wondered just _what_ the little Song-Bird had been. He had never encountered a creature, human or otherwise, able to speak magic and have magic respond like an eager puppy. The fact that Song-Bird had done so with such creativity was also a point of interest. Really, if he had such an ability as that '_reducto_', capable of blasting three foot-deep craters into frozen ground, why had he not used it on Sebastian himself? Why only that mild throwing spell, '_expelliarmus_'?

Such a curiosity. But, the Young Master's order was absolute. '_Remove the vermin – with prejudice_'.

What followed his return to the mansion was simply routine. Bathe, and prepare the Young Master for bed, warm some milk, add honey, scold him regarding cavities, and then begin to clean the mansion of clutter that had accumulated during the day, turning the lights off as he went.

It was during his tidying of the study when his ears heard it.

A sharp inhale, the startled thundering of a heartbeat, and the sickening crack of a broken bone being realigned.

The Demon dropped the book he was in the process of putting away and opened the window, ears straining in the crisp cold night air. Panting breath, human, coughing, and sniffling. The crunch and rasp of damp leaf-mould and undergrowth moving. The scent of blood, old and fresh, sweat, tears, and...

Sebastian frowned. He had never smelt that before. Not without the accompanying natural phenomenon. It smelt like the air following a lightning strike. Like the air beneath a thunderous sky, flashing and roaring with rage and power.

A second set of sounds reached his ears, smaller, faster, and almost silent footsteps. Two sets, moving in curious tandem. A rapid heartbeat and set of soft breaths. Some manner of small animal, but too calm and steady to be part of the local wildlife.

The Butler jumped from the window, easily clearing the rose-bushes beneath him and made his way back to where he had left the little Song-Bird's body for the bears and beasts. He had slit the little bird's throat. He had made sure to sever both jugular and carotid and slice clean through his oesophagus. It was a slice that no human would survive. Ever.

But, there it was, irrefutably right in front of his eyes.

The little Song-Bird was sitting up, trembling violently, panting hard as he rubbed his broken arm. Sat in front of him, peering up quizzically was the source of the curious second set of sounds. A four legged creature of black fur and equally exquisite eyes of liquid gold. It was sniffing at the blood on the ground and making anxious cries as it stared up at the little bird.

"I'm fine, Sootbul," the young man promised, coughing slightly, a hand reaching up to rub his throat. Well, at least Sebastian knew that he could feel pain from whatever he suffered through. Or died. Which meant he could be crippled, or maimed. Though... garnet eyes studied the formerly broken arm and the flashes of unbroken bloodied skin the tear in black fabric provided. Not even a bruise to show for the crippling damage he had received. That was a demonic level of healing, right there.

The animal made another cry, delicately picking its way around the blood-splatter to clamber onto the young man's lap. He only sighed and idly pulled the fabric shielding his face off and began to rub between the animal's bell-shaped ears. He had an interesting face, too soft to be called handsome, too sharp to be called beautiful. His nose and mouth were petite, with thin bow shaped lips; he had high, sharp cheekbones, pale skin that looked almost as white as the frost around him with thick wild black hair only making him look all the paler. Sharp, clear-cut emerald green eyes provided the only colour on his face, framed with long black eye-lashes. A curious scar stood out, silvery pink, old, and burned, on his forehead.

"Come on, get off me. We still have to report back," he told the small animal, wincing slightly as he gently shoved it off his lap. "Seriously, I'm demanding danger pay on this. Information gathering my left foot," he grunted as he climbed to his feet, leaning heavily against the tree as he visibly changed colours. Becoming even paler. Severe blood-loss could affect him as well, even if it couldn't kill him.

Sebastian grabbed him by the side of the head, and crushed his skull against the tree.

He felt the young man's head crumple beneath his fingers. Saw the blood that decorated the bark. Heard his heart stop beating.

He let the body drop and then settled back to watch. Ignoring the black creature that hissed at him and fled, kicking up leaf-mould as it did, moving with shadowy liquid grace that he would find himself admiring under other circumstances. For now, he crouched and he waited.

And, he was not left waiting, or disappointed, for very long. He heard the sound of bone grating first. And saw the young man's hair shift without a breeze as bone shards realigned beneath his scalp. And then he breathed in, and his heart started again. Fascinating! Sebastian watched intently as the thin figure curled up on himself with a groan of pain, the trembling ever so slight until he was shuddering with what had to be rather painful muscle-tremors.

"Ow..." he groaned as the tremors subsided and he was able to begin to uncurl.

Sebastian pulled out his trusty knife and promptly thrust it through the man's back, angling it directly into his heart – he even twisted the blade to make sure. It stopped beating and the young man wasn't even able to cry out in pain or surprise before his lungs were filling with blood.

Again, Sebastian sat back to watch.

It was faster this time. Weather by virtue of the location, or the lack of broken bones, he didn't know. But five minutes after the stabbing, the young man was gagging and spitting up blood. Rolling away from where Sebastian was crouched watching him. Bloody knife in hand.

"Would you stop that?" he demanded, coughing blood and spitting it to the side as he pressed his back against the tree behind him. "It doesn't matter what you do, I'm not going to stay dead!" he snapped, watching him with narrowed, wary, green eyes.

Sebastian hummed, tapping one of his mildly blood-splattered gloves against his lower lip in thought. From what he had seen, this was indeed very true. Save... "Even if I were to completely remove your head and take it elsewhere?" he asked curiously.

"Even then," he admitted grumpily. "I may not be able to move or do much, but somehow my head and my body always end up reunited. It's caused me more than enough trouble, thank you very much. So I'd rather you not attempt to do it either. It's a pain in the ass having to reattach my spine!"

The Demon couldn't help but chortle in agreement. Though he didn't have a spine in the _human_ sense of the term, having to re...create himself after every enterprise gone wrong, he could attest to how awkward and time consuming it was. Humans, for all their fragility, were complex creatures internally. Which made this one all the more interesting. A little Song-Bird with his power of change, and feathers to fly away from even death's cold embrace. A feat not even Demons had managed to accomplish. Oh, they were harder to kill than any human, and even most Shinigami. But they could bleed and die all the same as the rest. All the rest, apart from him.

Sebastian smiled, "Well then. Since I cannot eliminate you as the Young Master has ordered me to..."

_**000**_

**AND BOOM! End of Chapter One. I hope you guys have enjoyed it thus far. And yes, Sebastian killing Harry repeatedly was supposed to happen. Can you see him doing anything else? **

**'Oh. I killed you and you're still alive. (SQUISH) not anymore... No wait. You're back? How irritating. (CRUSH) Perhaps you'll... no, evidentially you won't. What to do? Perhaps if I... (SMASH) hmm... No. Indeed not. Well. That's frustrating, and interesting. Very interesting...'**

**Only more like a cat playing with its food. Y'know.**


	2. That Butler Evaded

**ROLL THE BONES**

_I do not own Harry Potter, Kuroshitsuji, or Neverwhere. They are property of JK Rowling, Yana Tobosa, and Neil Gaiman. This is fanfiction, be prepared to have your canon horribly, horribly, raped for my enjoyment and discretion._

**Hired to investigate the no longer derelict Phantomhive Estate, Harry gets caught up in something more annoying than Squatters when he finds himself blackmailed into being the Housekeeper.**

Warnings: Slash, Crossdressing, Quiet!Competent!Perceptive!Immortal!Harry, (Surprise!)!Undertaker. Sebastian/Harry, Lizzie/Ciel.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER ONE**

**That Butler... Evaded**

Harry snarled, kicking against the larder door.

That... that! That black-clad bastard!

He growled under his breath, pacing the tiny space with increasing agitation. When it became clearly apparent that nothing the bastard did was going to kill him – and he tried several more times, just to be certain! - he promptly broke his leg and bundled him up. Carting him back to the mansion like a sack of potatoes, squeezing his broken leg whenever he tried to either open his mouth or move. Sometimes doing it just because. Apparently, he liked the way Harry would go pale, and gasp in pain.

Tossed carelessly in the larder, his hands were bound and, mortifying enough, his body strip searched. The bastard even going so far as to check his mouth for reasons unknown, and his backside. Harry had not appreciated the fingers, and made said displeasure known by setting the smirking bastard on fire. His broken leg got punched for that and he had ended up gagged. A lemon forced between his teeth and a strip of cloth around his head to stop him from spitting it out. He then took his time finishing up the inspection before leaving him to shiver, naked, on the floor of the larder.

It had taken all of ten minutes to get the gag off and out. Transfiguration, some _very_ careful Levitation charms, and a simple Switching Spell and Harry was up, dressed, resetting his broken leg and casting various healing charms. _Alohamora_ got him out of the larder and he made it three steps to the back door before the Butler had him by the scruff of the neck and a hand slid between his teeth and down his throat – stopping him from speaking.

He found himself back in the larder, tied with rope in an odd fashion. A fashion that had him turning red in embarrassment as he recognised it as the Japanese Shibari bondage fetish, and glaring as hatefully as he could at the bastard around the block of lard he had forced between his teeth. He didn't dare use magic non-verbally in front of him. The fact that he seemed to be under the impression that Harry _needed_ to speak his spells aloud was probably the only reason he wasn't drugged or unconscious right now.

Still, he would have to be careful from now on during his escape.

He waited until the bastard left before slicing through the ropes with a non-verbal _Diffindo_, transfigured the lard into a single strawberry gummybear before spitting it out. The door however, had been barricaded. Harry snarled, kicking the larder door once more. Oh it wouldn't stop him, or even slow him down much, it was just _frustrating_.

Getting down onto his stomach, he peered through the gap at the bottom of the door and carefully angled his finger, silently shrinking the items blocking his path. Table, chairs, _stove!_ Harry blinked at the cast iron cooking stove, it was a little one, he would have expected to see it in a rural cottage than a grand mansion kitchen, but he guessed it was used more as a space heater than a cooking device.

He got to his feet, cast a Silencing Charm on the larder door, lovely jubbly, and he was off.

This time he made it _five_ steps to the back door before the Butler was on him. Harry ran, and managed to get half-way to the door before the Butler flattened him with a full-on rugby tackle. Crushing him painfully hard on the ground.

"You," the man purred, looming over him. "Are more slippery than you seem. It is a good thing I don't sleep much these days," he murmured.

A sharp blow to the back of his head was the last Harry knew of that night.

_**000**_

Sebastian could only huff in mild amusement when the man went limp. Really, such a curiosity. Well, never mind. He picked the Song-Bird up and carted him back to the larder which had become his prison cell for the night. He wouldn't be awakening until mid-morning with a blow of that level. Long enough to see to the little Lord and consult him in what to do regarding their difficult little guest.

Perhaps he would be allowed to completely immolate him? Sebastian doubted he could return from an ash-like state.

It was when he closed the larder door that, just like clockwork, the young master awoke from his habitual nightmares. Sebastian sighed and made his way to his Contractor's bedchambers. If the boy's soul hadn't already been such high-class goods, and assured to become even more so after being marinated in his presence for however long it took for him to fulfil the contract, he would have deemed the brat more trouble than he was worth. Still, the boy's lifetime would be little more than the flick of an eyelid to a demon, and it wasn't as though he were missing much in the nether-realm. The constant war against the Shinigami had died down into something resembling subarctic temperatures. A cold war that could freeze even the sun. So there wasn't anything for him to do, aside from play with mortals. Who got dreadfully boring at times.

This time though, it looked as though he had stumbled on someone interesting. A nexus of change.

Hm, perhaps he was giving the brat too much credit for just being difficult? Yes, that must be it. Sebastian decided as he was ordered to remain, stood silently beside the window, guarding his little master's sleep like the dog he was named for. Irritation throbbed like a thing alive within him at the reminder of his new, humiliating, moniker.

Perhaps he would take his irritation out on their guest, since the young master did not know of him, and it was unlikely the man would care much since he was impossible to kill. Hmm, maybe he had best abstain. He did not know how the young master would react to the undying man; there may be a chance that he took him onto the staff. Meaning they would have to work together. And humans were odd creatures that tended to hold murders against one another and behave with undue hostility.

Back to studying cookery books then.

Returning to his room and losing himself in the mechanics of creating black forest gateau, the distant chiming of the clock in the study tickled his sensitive ears every hour, on the hour, telling him the passing of time. Come seven, he closed his book and climbed to his feet to begin the morning's preparations. Tea first for the little master to awaken, and breakfast at the dining room table after dressing him. That is, if he didn't throw a tantrum and upend food and china ware onto the floor like a brat.

Perhaps he was old fashioned, but the dressing of the little master was more annoying than any other menial task the brat had him perform. Being so dependent on another he couldn't even _dress_ himself was far from dignified, or noble, in the Demon's opinion. It was weakness and laziness. But, he kept his opinion to himself and aided the young master into his outfit for the day.

"After breakfast, young master, there is a small matter that needs addressing before our lessons," Sebastian intoned respectfully as he fell into step behind the little lordling. His single remaining greedy blue eye cut back toward him with its customary caustic arrogance.

"And what might that be?" he demanded sharply.

"Last night's vermin. He seems incapable of remaining dead," Sebastian explained, not bothering to hide the edge of indignation from his voice. As interesting as the little bird may have been, it was vexing to have your hard-work come to naught.

"Remaining dead?" the little lord echoed, scepticism colouring his tone.

Sebastian had to fight down the impulse to bristle. It was going to take some getting used to, his new master's attitude and brazen demands of him. "Yes. Slitting his throat, crushing his skull, stabbing him in the heart, removing his internal organs, snapping his neck, piercing the brain, rupturing his internal organs, asphyxiation, drowning, being beaten to death, to name a few. None of these incidents have caused his heart to stop for longer than an hour. All fatal injuries heal themselves immediately while the minor, non-life threatening ones, remain untouched. Save for when I pulverised his body entirely, it completely repaired itself. In annoyance, he has even admitted that beheading will only slow him down, and is, at best, an inconvenience."

He was mildly gratified to see the flash of fearful anxiousness in the brat's eye before it was consumed with something more troublesome, if entertaining. Curiosity and interest. Since death was out of the question, all that remained to be seen was if the little lordling would make use of the little bird, or cage him away forever more. He was quite certain that if the boy petitioned her, Queen Victoria would allow the rental of a room in the Tower, or a small dark room somewhere far out of sight and mind.

Breakfast was... straining. While Sebastian had been certain to ensure everything was presented as appropriately as was proper, his cooking still left something to be desired. And the sour expression on the little Lordling's face clearly displayed it as such, though he kept his commentary to himself and, thankfully, didn't up-end the food, or expensive dishes that the demon was getting mightily fed up of fixing again and again, all over the floor.

If anything, the young master had rushed the meal. With as much dignity as possible, but rushed none the less.

It was a simple matter to rearrange the dining room so as to better deal with their unexpected vermin. Moving the table to one side, bringing their most comfortable armchair and footstool for the little Lordling to make himself comfortable, and their most uncomfortable wooden chair and a length of their best chain. Their little song bird was still unconscious, limp on the floor of the larder as Sebastian scooped him up and carted him into the dining room. Setting him down on the chair and chaining him in place, Sebastian also closed all the doors and windows.

"This is him?" the little Lord demanded, staring down at the thin figure slumped on the chair.

Sebastian could only agree with the unvoiced disappointment in his master's tone. For an immortal, their song bird was not all that impressive. He was thin, and pale, and rumpled. His clothing was also stiff and encrusted with blood and filth from the events of the previous evening. He hardly seemed like something that could cheat death so effectively as to come back to life after being murdered in as many ways as Sebastian had done last night. True he had not tried some of his more exotic methods, nor his more enjoyable ones, the ones he couldn't risk using in case the young master caught them. His Black Death was not the sort of thing that his delicate little master would appreciate properly.

"These were upon his person," the Butler intoned, handed over a small packet of papers. Inside were two photos and a simple missive. Ciel and Madam Red peered out of the photos that were taken in happier times. The slip of paper merely detailed whom was whom, and the particulars of information gathering, on top of where to report and to whom.

The little lord's eyebrow twitched slightly, "So," he began tightly, "All these intrusions we have suffered are simply because someone believed that we were squatters?" he asked himself before glaring at Sebastian as if it were his fault. "And if we had left this man to do his job, that would have been the end of our vermin problem." Ah, that was why he was upset. If the song bird weren't incapable of remaining dead they would have continued to have problems with intruders. Perhaps becoming even more insistent, or even including official members of law enforcement. Sebastian quite wisely decided to keep his mouth shut instead of pointing out how it was the young Master's desire not to announce his return to anyone but his Aunt.

Ciel's scowl became more pronounced before he threw himself down in the comfortable armchair, crossing his legs and propping his head up on one palm, gesturing imperiously, "Wake him."

Yes, because he could snap his fingers and awaken a being from unconsciousness at a whim. Of course. Sebastian refrained from sighing, or making a biting remark as he stepped forward and placed a hand over the youth's head. He twitched slightly when he realised that this annoyance... was already awake. Listening to everything without even a change in his heart rate. The question was, did he point this out? Hmm, no, there was no need to really. The extra information wouldn't do him any good, and it would be more entertaining this way.

He grabbed the young man's ear and twisted it harshly.

Green eyes flew open and the young man hissed, turning his head to try and alleviate the pain of the twist. Sebastian smiled enigmatically at the utterly filthy look he received. Idly he wondered if the little song bird would get offended if he popped those lovely eyes out and kept them in a jar on his bedside table. They really were an exquisite shade of green.

The little lordling tapped his fingers pointedly and Sebastian stood back, half a pace behind his chair. Wordlessly, the pair watched as their intruder tested the strength of the chains, the integrity of the chair, and even the initial study of the dining room.

Closed doors, lead framed windows, paintings adorning the walls featuring tastefully done landscapes – no family members. A public room then, the dining room? Harry pondered frowning a touch. There was no table, no chairs apart from the one he sat on, and even the throw carpet was gone, rolled up and put away. Disturbing. That meant they did not want it dirty and he could expect something of either a demonstration of his immortality or a stint of extensive torture until he could escape. He then turned his attention to the black clad bastard and the boy, Ciel Phantomhive.

To Ciel, it was surprising that Sebastian didn't garner more than a glower, while he himself was given a long and steady look over. Making him feel naked and oh-so vulnerable as those old, knife sharp, _knowing_ green eyes turned to him with disturbing intensity. He _hated_ that feeling, and his hands tightened on the arms of his comfortable armchair in response.

"Breaking and Entering carry heavy punishments," he intoned coldly, breaking the silent tension that permeated the room. "But nothing compared to the penalty for attempting to assassinate a member of Nobility," he declared savagely, flicking up the two photographs they had found upon his person. Ciel of course knew that had not been his purpose here, but no law enforcer was going to take this scoundrel's word over his own. If Ciel said he was an assassin, then he would be declared an assassin. The man's life was cradled within the very palm of his hand, and he didn't even have the courtesy to look intimidated.

"That's nice," the stranger admitted flippantly, making the young Earl bristle.

"Even if you manage to escape the Gallows, you will be excommunicated from England and sentenced to life imprisonment in New England's Sydney Penal Colony," he threatened icily as if the stranger hadn't spoken.

He nodded, not even having the grace to look perturbed, "I hear Australia is lovely this time of year," he mused idly, sounding as if he were greatly enjoying himself with Ciel's threats. Threats that clearly didn't bother him in the slightest. Since death or banishment didn't seem to bother him... perhaps something else?

He leaned back in his seat, "However," he continued thoughtfully, "Your circumstances being what they are, a basement suite within the Tower of London," Ah, there we go. The stranger tensed ever so slightly and those green eyes which had been studying the door behind him shifted to bore into his own singular blue one. "with your only visitors being our best and brightest trying to discover the secret to your so called _immortality_ seems to be your only option."

Ciel immediately knew he had him with that promise. Being banished to New England was nothing, but eternal confinement and experimentation had turned the man's blood to ice – all colour leeching from his face, even if his expression remained unchanged. The twelve year old leaned back in his chair expectantly, lifting the sheet of paper and lazily rereading the details of his task. The intruder would blurt everything out soon enough. No fuss. No mess. These types were all the same, no honour, only self preservation. Immortality not withstanding.

But ten minutes later, nothing had been said, and Ciel grudgingly decided the man was made of sterner stuff than the average thug. Well, Ciel had concluded that some time before, at least physically. Being able to stand toe to toe with Sebastian, even if you were merely evading him for a short while, was nothing to be sneezed at.

"You seem to be a man of many useful talents," Ciel admitted unhappily. Mainly because he had no way of ensuring those talents couldn't be used against him. If not for Sebastian being on hand that moment, he would have never known about this man, nor have been able to prevent his own death had that been his objective. And since he couldn't remove this threat, he would just have to either contain it, or _control_ it for his own ends. Somehow though, he got the impression it would be much harder to bring this man to heel than a demon.

"Save the recruitment pitch," the intruder stated with a roll of his eyes, "I have an aversion to working with people who kill me," he stated flatly, eyes cutting toward Sebastian sharply.

Ciel drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair unhappily, he gave thought to threatening the man with the Tower once again, but now wasn't the time. That threat hadn't cowed him the first time, it was best not to shove it in his face again just yet. Better to let it sink in properly and pursue over avenues. If he thinks he can get out of this mansion without signing himself away, he would be much more liable to give Ciel the information he wanted.

"Then answer me this, who hired you?"

The green eyed man arched an eyebrow and settled back, looking annoyingly comfortable in the rickety chair, and chains.

"Client Confidentiality. Not a word of their identity will pass my lips. It's why I'm as successful as I am," he explained cheerfully, and Ciel could have spat wasps with how frustrated he felt – until Sebastian shifted, ever so slightly, and incredibly out of character. It was enough though, and Ciel sat up straighter in realisation. Not a single _word_. There were other ways, he had already proven capable of reading and writing, he clearly had some form of fine education, better than any other gutter trash assassin. No one would believe an educated man would perform such work, so promising not to _say_ anything could have been considered adequate. If the promise could be trusted. And clearly this stranger's reputation meant that it was.

He smirked, and Ciel swallowed his discomfort, realising that this man knew exactly what he was thinking. This was a highly educated, very intelligent, and exceptionally cunning young man. What kind of life had shaped him into a man like this? What kind of triumphs, or tragedies, set him on this path into the underworld? Was he looking into his own possible future?

Sebastian shifted once again and Ciel dismissed his anxiousness. How could this be a vision of his future when he had a Demon supporting his bid for revenge? He would become an Earl greater than his father, continue the Phantomhive line, and become fat and grey with old age and sweets before he brought about a ruinous revenge that that History books would speak of for centuries. This man was not his future. Just another useful Chesspiece to either use, sacrifice, or remove from the board _entirely_.

Green eyes glinted, and he felt doubt again. Was he smart enough? Cunning enough? He wouldn't have the same level of control over this man compared to Sebastian. Could he bribe him adequately? Threaten him? How could he trust such a wild card?

"Sebastian, fetch a table and some writing equipment," he ordered, ignoring his doubts for now. Sebastian would protect him, no matter what. Otherwise the contract would be violated. And the Demon would be shamed.

A moment of silence left the dining room ringing as the two humans stared at one another. Ciel having to admit a grudging respect for the intruder.

"What's your name?" he asked quietly.

The man tilted his head, "...Harry, just Harry," he answered.

"No last name? I find that unusual, especially for a man as well educated as you clearly are. Unless..." Ciel trailed off leadingly. Amusement glinted in those green eyes.

"Unless?"

"Unless. You're the bastard son of a noble. Bitter, willing to lash out at the whole class system," he theorised, watching the man's face carefully. There was curiosity, then indignation, then hilarity. Harry started laughing and Ciel scowled in a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Clearly he was wrong. But that was no reason to laugh at him in such a mocking manner.

"Ah, ah-hah, haaaah... My apologies, ah, hmm, heh. I have been called a bastard before, but never in the context of my parents' marriage. Hahaha, no, they were quite happily married, my mother being exceptionally intelligent but dirt common. My father had money, but nobility isn't for a man who puts animal droppings into his tutor's lunch as a prank." Harry shook his head as Ciel pulled a face of disgust, "No, my story is quite simple, Earl Phantomhive. I find myself stranded in a strange country with no friends, no connections, no letter of introduction, and no care given to me. One does what one must to put food within one's belly. And male whores are frowned on in these parts," he claimed mirthfully as Sebastian returned with a writing desk. The way that final comment was delivered, Ciel couldn't have been sure if that was a particularly black piece of humour or a legitimate observation.

"And your only area of expertise is breaking and entering, or whoring?" Ciel's scepticism could have drowned a horse it was so thick.

Harry snorted, "With no letter of introduction, none that anyone would trust. I can cook, clean, garden, teach, I have been a tutor, a policeman, a bounty hunter, bodyguard, Burlesque Dancer, Lounge Singer, Circus Performer, Freedom Fighter, Doctor, Holy Man, Inventor, Carpenter..." His smile was old, and bitter, "I am much older than I look, Earl. And I have no patience for mind games. Speak plain, and I shall return the favour."

A man who had a distaste for word-games. Very well, Ciel could respect that, however much it bored him.

"As you cannot _say_ whom sent you, I want you to write it. On top of that, you have proven yourself talented, and I am short on staff. I would ask you to enter under my employment if you are having such difficulties finding honest work. I would offer you this opportunity in return for your loyalty and the use of your unique powers, and give you the promise of protection," Ciel offered as coaxingly as possible.

The man smiled enigmatically, an expression that put Ciel startlingly in mind of Sebastian.

"Thank you for the _offer_, young Lord. But I must decline. As I said before, I have a habit of holding grudges against people who murder me. Especially in such... numerous, and inventive ways as your Butler has done," he added, green eyes tracking the red eyed man as he laid out a fountain pen, parchment and an ink-well.

Ciel scowled, well, he supposed they could always keep the man restrained until he agreed to work for them. With Sebastian, it shouldn't be too difficult.

Harry waited and eventually had one arm released so that he could write. Idly, and quickly, he scrawled something on the parchment, but clearly before Sebastian could take a peek, the man folded it over and muttered something. The paper glowed a brief shade of blue before he smirked like a Cheshire cat.

"What was that?" Ciel demanded sharply.

"Insurance," Harry told him with a smug purr. He lifted the piece of paper, "The writing shall not be visible unless I will it so, and I shan't until I walk out through those gates, unfollowed, unmolested, within the next half an hour." Ciel gritted his teeth furiously, and Harry shrugged, somehow managing to make the movement not only mocking, but also elegant at the same time. "If not, I can always completely remove the memory from my own mind. I'm not very good at memory Charms, I may end upo removing everything and becoming a drooling simpleton on par with a three year old, but... Hey, I'm Immortal. No skin off my nose. I can learn it all back," he pointed out with a cheerful grin that set the young Lord's blood boiling.

"And what guarantee do I have that you will reveal the text to me if I allow you to walk free?" Ciel demanded.

"_I swear upon my Magic that should Ciel Phantomhive allow me to leave his property, unhindered, unmolested, and without being followed, I shall release the contents of my message to him. So mote it be._"

Ciel shuddered violently in his seat as he felt _something_ in the room react. Felt a weight settle within him. He stared at Harry who smirked challengingly at him. His eyes saying it all.

'_Am I really that important to you? Are you going to prove yourself rash, and unseemly by refusing?_' The man was goading him into throwing a tantrum. And Ciel wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to lash out, to snap and snarl at the craft gutter rat. But he couldn't. He was quite soundly beaten at his own game.

"Release him, Sebastian," he ordered tersely. Watching sourly as the Demon release their guest completely. Harry stood, stretching with a small wince as his spine and knees popped with the movement. He then handed Sebastian the piece of paper.

"By your leave then, my lord," he told the twelve year old before sauntering towards the front door. He turned and glanced over his shoulder, "Remember, it will become visible, but only once I have left the grounds without being followed." He grinned and Ciel couldn't stop himself from grinding his teeth.

Ten minutes later, the paper glowed once more, and Sebastian carefully opened it. Ciel had refused to touch it in case it was cursed or trapped.

Sebastian's eyebrows shot up and he couldn't help but smirk as he lifted the missive up and revealed the elegant cursive script glaring out of the parchment.

_Nice try, child. But this is my win._

_I never said that I would give you anything._

_**000**_

**Heheheh, bless 'im. Ciel's a little one right now. He was quite cloistered and wrapped up in cotton wool before his abduction, which was only a month long. Thus far, its been two-three months since. Not enough time for Ciel to become the cunning little bastard we know he can be from the canon.**

**Besides, Harry is just that much of a bastard in his old age. XDDD**

Important note though:

I'm going on Hiatus. I've got University hand ins throughout the entirety of April. Originally I had planned on updating Auryn and informing everyone, but that's just not possible. So I'm throwing the announcement here, on my facebook, on my Tumblr, and on my profile.

I will be back in May. Promise guys! Love you all.

Peace. Out.


	3. That Butler Annoyed

**ROLL THE BONES**

_I do not own Harry Potter, Kuroshitsuji, or Neverwhere. They are property of JK Rowling, Yana Tobosa, and Neil Gaiman. This is fanfiction, be prepared to have your canon abducted by aliens and probed with eels._

**Hired to investigate the no longer derelict Phantomhive Estate, Harry gets caught up in something more annoying than Squatters when he finds himself blackmailed into being the Housekeeper.**

Warnings: Slash, Crossdressing, Quiet!Competent!Perceptive!Immortal!Harry, (Surprise!)!Undertaker. Sebastian/Harry, Lizzie/Ciel.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER THREE**

**That Butler... Annoyed**

Sebastian was reluctantly impressed. And severely annoyed.

He would have found the whole thing hilarious, if he weren't the one being force to cater to the Little Lordling's resulting temper tantrum. He made a mental note to see whether or not their little Song-Bird could survive being flayed alive without any kind of anaesthetic. After all, it simply would not do to go stealing from Madam Red's supplies, it would be the height of rudeness, and she may end up asking uncomfortable questions of the Young Master.

Still, his reluctant respect only doubled when he reached the road to find it entirely deserted. There was a faint whiff of that ozone scent, a few hoof-prints, and the distinct tread of those new fangled things, cars, and a few carts. All in all, the only witness to the dark scowl that wrote itself across his face was a rather beautiful stallion in the field opposite.

He returned to the mansion in the hopes that perhaps he could attain some information from the man's personal affects – particularly that note which detailed when and where to receive the information.

However, it seemed as though _Harry_ was annoyingly thorough. The note was gone. Along with the photographs. The Young Master was pitching quite the unseemly fit, and as much as the youngster's ire amused him, the fact he was laying the blame for the man's escape at his feet was vexing, and insulting. Still, he bit his tongue for the most part ("_Perhaps you should take this as a learning experience, Young Master. A bitter pill it may be, but defeat can teach you much about your _weaknesses."_ The brat merely glowered at him and stomped off to his office to get some of the unfinished paperwork from the previous evening done_) and continued with his duties, mentally promising that he would experiment with the Song-Bird's so called immortality, and find a way to put him in the ground permanently.

However, the arrival of Miss Elizabeth, and her mother Marchioness Midford quickly banished all thought, or concern, of the mysterious Harry from both his and the Young Master's minds as they were forced to deal with the demanding and powerful Marchioness (Had she been a Demon, Sebastian held little illusion that she could have stood as one of the more powerful Presidents of Hell. The woman would not have thought twice even of commanding Lillith to behave) and her rather frivolous daughter (another curious creature to him, she was quite clearly a warrior – one did not hide that predatory grace, nor that muscle toning. The young Miss Elizabeth was every inch as physically formidable as her mother, yet held none of her iron presence. Perhaps in a few years?).

_**000**_

Harry sighed as he slipped out of the Lord's manor. Dealing with Lord John was much easier than dealing with the Phantomhive brat, if only for the simple fact that Lord John never knew he had been on the grounds. Harry had returned the papers and the photographs and left a report and a letter for him detailing the next steps. It served as both a sign of good business, and a subtle warning. That the information came straight to his office without passing through any overtly curious hands, meant that no one would ever know about their transaction. But it also told him that Harry could easily get in, and out, of his estate without anyone knowing, or noticing. So if he refused the rest of his payment, Harry could quite easily take it in flesh.

Not that he would.

Though it may have sounded strange given his advanced years, he had grown to value life. He had walked the earth for almost seven-hundred years now, he had witnessed wars and atrocities, he had stepped into strange and fantastical worlds where History was different and thus everything else was as well. Where Rome never fell. Where Religion never held dominion – places where Jesus, or Muhammad, or Shiva, had never graced the minds of mortal men. Places where the continents had never split. And humanity had not survived to populate the planet. He had gone through time. Awakened in strange and exotic places. Found himself in worlds where magic was known, and hunted to extinction. Where it was known, and an essential part of life even for those who didn't have it. Places where it had never existed at all.

He had seen the worst of cruelties...

But also the greatest of kindnesses, the greatest – he couldn't find words to describe the things he had seen. Just thinking of the incredible people he had found made his breath quicken, and his blood burn. He was not special in the grand scheme of things. He may have lived longer, but he had encountered people with greater wisdom, greater forces of will and belief. Men and women who drove him to the brink and broke him, and then rebuilt him. Rebuilt him into something... better.

He was no longer the silly, naïve Gryffindor he once was in his youth.

Nor was he the jaded, war-bitten veteran he became afterward.

Or the heartbroken husband and father.

Being as old as he was, he had the opportunity to see other peoples lives and how it effected the world around him. He could honestly say that no life was insignificant. No one was born without reason. That purpose may be humble, it may be to simply be a mother, or a father, it may be to open up a small tea shop, or it could be to become one of the greatest generals in the world. No life was insignificant. Everyone was precious to someone else.

He could harden his heart, and do the deed. He had learned that for all his value on life, he could easily take it, and mourn it, and carry on with his life. Guilt did not stain him any longer. An action once made, could not be taken back. A life once taken, could not be returned. The saying '_There is no use crying over spilt milk_' was true. And Harry had never been one for lamenting poor circumstances. There was only one way to go in such times.

Forward.

He had been stuck in one place, trapped in a past he desperately clung to. Too heartbroken to move on, too frightened of the future to leave. He had spent years in darkness and pain, clinging to his bitterness, to his sadness, to the pain. He picked at his wounds until they festered and bled, time, and time again. All the while the world passing him by. It took one moment for him to realise the folly of such actions. One moment to make him regret those lost years, and cry for a future he could no longer see. But he vowed then, not to be trapped by his own mind and pain. He vowed to move forward.

He vowed to endure.

And endure he did. No matter the pain, no matter the sorrow. He lived, he endured, and he moved _forward_.

And those incredible people he met, knew, loved, and left, they taught him so much, helped him in ways he couldn't even begin to describe, or thank them for. But he would thank them every day never the less.

He smiled to himself as he made his way through the sunsoaked streets of London, dodging out of the way of laughing children. After today he shouldn't have to take any more jobs for at least several months. The pay that Lord John had offered was as opulent as the mansion he lived in – and Harry was not above appropriating some of the jewellery he gave the housekeeper (who was his mistress as well), or a few bits and bobs here and there that he knew would sell exceptionally well, and would not be missed in the slightest.

'Honest work' was merely a term for easily traced and _taxable_ work.

And if Lau recognised the heraldry on the solid white gold ring Harry tossed him as his rent for the next three months, he made no comment of it, merely smiling that fox smirk of his as he sent Ran Mao – his favourite assassin and courtesan – to entertain him upstairs. Not that Harry was interested in a little brat with no tits or ass to speak of, but she was pleasant smelling, with a sarcastic streak a mile wide, who cooked some mean fried rice and other such Chinese delicious bits and bobs he hadn't had the pleasure of eating since the last time he was in the late 1990's when such things as Chinese Take-aways existed.

So he put up with her mild form of spying, letting her cook and eye the papers he had on his walls and table while he went and bathed – thank whatever strange gods that governed this place that plumbing had been invented and installed in the Opium Den. A hot shower after the night he'd had was just what the doctor ordered, and Ran Mao would likely as not have a pot of Vanilla Chai Tea waiting for him when he returned – it was his favourite.

"Ni mingtian zou ma? _Are you leaving tomorrow?_" Ran asked as he stepped out of the bathroom, towelling his hair. She was stood beside the tiny kitchen table and had laid out a veritable feast. She must be trying to get into his good books for some reason or another. She was certainly going about it the best way!

"Bushi. _No_," he responded giving her a kiss on the forehead. She was a sweet child who had been sold into this life by her impoverished parents, it was the kindest thing they could do for her when they themselves were starving to death. Her life may not have been easy, but she was guaranteed a meal every day and a bath as well. Many people had ended up with _employers_ much nastier than Lau, it was one of the few reasons why Harry respected the Chinese man. And Lau knew not to step on his toes, or bring children into the business with Harry around – not that he did Ran Mao admitted, Lau had been a child when he had been forced into the business so he was just as determined to keep the little ones out of it as long as he could.

Ran nodded and left him to his meal, returning downstairs now that she had her answer. Lau would ensure breakfast and a paper were brought to him the next morning, he was their only boarder and the only one willing to run jobs for them for free, not to mention he knew enough medicine to prevent any and all Over-doses they may have, thus preventing the Yard from coming down on their little illegal Opium Den.

Harry dug in without regrets – if Ran was hungry she would have joined him, he was pretty free with his food to the girls and even Lau, he just refused to feed the drug addicts down below unless he was being paid for his troubles. The girls knew to come to him for any medical issues, if they wanted to be fed, or just someone to chat to who wouldn't try to get grabby. The Opium Den may not have been a brothel on the surface, but they still offered such services (the girls were never forced though. It was entirely their choice if they wanted to do back-room business, all Lau asked was a thirty-percent 'rent' charge for use of the property and for introductions).

Once he'd finished eating, Harry set the dishes in the sink and sleepily went about the washing up, already the energy crash was catching up with him and it wasn't yet even midday. True he could have easily used his wand, but having been in worlds where magic was forbidden, or non-existent, he had grown used to going without. And his Wandless repertoire was filled with mostly combat spells and those few useful ones he knew he couldn't really do without – as evidenced by the most recent débâcle. The most annoying thing was his inability to Apparate. The ability had been completely sealed away from him and he had yet to figure it out. And he wasn't keen on seeing if he could punch his way through on power alone – he still had the scars from the last time he Splinched himself.

Setting the dishes on the rack to dry, Harry staggered off to the bed and crawled in, idly throwing a Locking Charm on the door and activating the Alarm Charms on the staircase – as he was the only boarder, no one should be coming up the stairs but him, but if there was an emergency he needed to be awake and he tended to be violent upon awakening suddenly. He didn't want to accidentally harm one of the girls.

Tomorrow he would pick up the last of his pay and then fence those little bits and bobs he lifted from Lord John's estate. Then he would go and do what he did best, explore, have fun, and make a nuisance of himself. It was always funny to set heads scratching in confusion, and tempers boiling in anger. He was something of a sadist – and he so dearly wished he could have had a picture of the Little Lordling's face when he opened that note. It would have been hilarious.

_**000**_

This was getting ridiculous.

"Young Master, it is Madam Red's birthday. Surely you would not be so rude as to refuse her invitation?" Sebastian asked sharply, his voice tempered with mild disapproval as he set down the traditional afternoon tea and assorted light snacks – no matter what the brat said, afternoon tea did not happen with cake! Finger sandwiches and scones _only_.

This 'argument' had been taking place for twenty minutes now. The Little Lordling's natural reluctance to step out into the shark-pool of balls and politics holding him back from attending his very... er, _vivacious_ social butterfly of an Aunt's birthday gala. And it was to be quite the event. Lady Elizabeth had been gushing over the sheer number of ladies and their lords who were sure to have "_Very pretty and cute outfits_", she was just as determined as Madam Red to have Ciel in attendance. Though perhaps, Lady Elizabeth's motives were a tad more selfish in nature. She chattered for a good hour at Ciel while he did his paperwork regarding matching outfits and ribbons and – Sebastian wished he could have the ability to tune her out as effectively as the Little Lordling, but being a demon, his ears were attuned to all, and it was impossible to drown out her voice.

However, this time, Sebastian was putting his foot down. It was fine to ignore missives from the usual society vultures, citing the Young Master's poor health, but it was not fine to ignore one's own relative – especially when said relative is a Doctor and thus the poor health excuse being unable to hold water. The ultimate point was that if the Young Master refused the invitation he would upset both his Aunt, his fiancé, the Midford family, and cause the vultures to think poorly of the Phantomhive family – they would begin to look on the Young Master as a terrified child, not an Earl. Thus an unacceptable conclusion.

"Miss Hopkins will be arriving at precisely ten tomorrow morning for your fitting. I have already obtained the plans for Miss Elizabeth's dress so that you may match for the event. I have also taken the liberty of collecting an appropriate present for Madam Red on your behalf," the Butler declared firmly, ignoring the scathing glower the Little Lordling shot him. Ciel knew full well he had no choice in this matter, he was merely refusing for the simple sake of refusing.

Thankfully Madam Red was a May child, so the weather would be warm enough that the Young Master could forgo any heavy cloaks or woollens. He would attend until the evening and then head home with the Midford family before peeling away and back to his own.

The Young Master grumbled as expected, but acquiesce as gracefully as expected, which wasn't very much.

_**000**_

"It seems that Harry-dear has a job!" Lau chirped happily as he pranced into his precious Boarder's rooms. The green eyed man looked up from where he was going through various papers, a set of delicate golden framed glasses perched on his nose. With the way he was dressed, you would have never assumed his true employment interests. Simple white button-ups and black slacks, the sleeves rolled back and odd black leather bracers encasing his bare-forearms. With his unruly short black hair, and those gold glasses, he looked like a scholar fresh out of Cambridge.

"I am aware," the Mercenary murmured, reaching out and taking a mouthful of his chilled vanilla Chai, ignoring his landlord as he returned his attentions to the papers in front of him.

The Chinese criminal pouted at being ignored and cheekily situated himself in his Boarder's lap, prompting the outraged spluttering he had expected and always thoroughly enjoyed. Harry was much too much like the Little Earl, they were both so kitteny and adorable when ruffled and irritated. Though he had to remember that he was dealing with a Tiger in this instance, not the little fluffy house-kitten that the Earl was. But still, unlike his precious little Earl, Harry-dear did know when to cut loose and have some fun, more often than not if Lau had trouble finding one of his girls all he had to do was pop upstairs and he would be likely to find them with Harry either playing a board game, or something else. Thus far, only Xiao Lan could boast she'd landed him in bed, wearing a Cheshire grin the entire time as the other girls complained loudly. Lau wasn't surprised, though he was amused when Harry easily admitted he liked big boobs and curves. "_Climbing into bed with a sack of firewood isn't that pleasant. I guess I'm a little indecent. Comfort over speed my friend._" Lau had laughed for a week straight when he heard that. Comfort over speed, where _did_ dear-Harry come up with these sayings? They could be proverbs if not for the subject matter!

"How are you getting in, _Wode dongbei hu_?" he inquired smirking as Harry sighed and shifted dumping him onto the floor.

"I'm not your anything, Lau. And I'm hardly a Tiger either," the Immortal chastised, ignoring the China man as he got to his feet and then promptly draped himself across his back. Lau was always a very touchy-feely man, unusual for a Chinese but perhaps the culture was different in the Victorian era. From what he knew of 1990's China, being overtly physical was either meant as an intimidation tactic or a flirtation, strong handshakes were a sign of hairy-scary foreigners. So yes, Lau's behaviour gave him headaches at times but the man was essentially harmless, in intent. Those needles however... And Harry would have to have been blind not to recognise a fellow Martial artist when he saw one, especially a practitioner of the Northern Shaolin – the Snake, if he wasn't mistaken. Though he could be. He himself only knew the Taijiquan, more commonly known as Tai Chi, but with its roots in a more combat orientation.

"But to answer your question, yes, I do," he explained, sipping at his drink. "I've been asked to see that Lord Melrose does not see the end of the evening. That evening being the birthday of his newest lover, aparently there is some form of party, ideal for what I have in mind." Even if what he had in mind was... well, the request was to _ruin_ him, and then kill him. He had done similar jobs before so he had no problem doing the same.

Lau hummed into his ear, eyes slitting open, "My, my, _wode dongbei hu_, and I thought you did not take assassination jobs," he observed with a predatory purr.

Harry sighed through his nose, "I do try to avoid them," he admitted quietly, "But still. This man... I cannot say he truly deserves it, I will figure that out tonight, but his death would be for the betterment for many less fortunates if my information is correct. And it usually is," he added with a mild frown, recalling that hairy incident with the Phantomhive job three months ago. He should have researched that one a lot more thoroughly. Surely someone must have known about that creature – if Harry hadn't been certain that Vampires didn't exist in this world, he would have assumed the man were a High Daywalker, possibly even a Nosferatu born of blood from the Prophet. "Lord John is providing for me as Escort, so I shan't have any problem getting _into_ the party. Introductions may, perhaps, be a tad more difficult as I do not think Lord Melrose and Lord John are acquaintances."

Lau's eyebrow moved up, "An escort?" he echoed questioningly.

"Yes," Harry agreed idly as he sifted through his papers, "No one looks too closely at high-society ladies unless it is to scorn or flatter their clothing choices. And with what I have in mind, no one will blame me for killing Lord Melrose, especially if I time it right," he explained as he set aside the receipt he received from the fabric store – he had, of course, made his own dress. Cheaper and easier, plus he could sew in the extra packets for poison in case his plan didn't work properly.

The China man laughed in mild amusement, "You would go so far to ghet your mark?" he purred, nuzzling the side of Harry's head, grinning as the 'younger' man leaned away absently.

"If it gets the job done with minimal fuss, yes," he stated bluntly before swatting him away. "I don't think I'll be back until late tomorrow. Likely as not I may need you to collect me in a cab from the Yard if this goes to plan. I will, of course, pat you for your part in this if you're willing."

"But of course, my _wode donbei hu_,"Lau lilted playfully, knowing that the nickname would just irritate the man further, but as always, let him get away with it.

"We'll just say that my father is a business partner of yours, that should anything untoward crop up, he has asked you to check in on me. Other than that, we are largely left to our own devices," Harry detailed, handing him an expertly forged letter from his so called 'father' explaining his request. And the young maiden's name for the evening – _Lillian_.

"Sootbull, off the table," the young man complained, making Lau look up and chuckle as a very familiar black cat made a pain of herself, jumping on top of Harry's notes and demanding attention. Clearly she thought they hadn't pampered her enough today. However, Harry was in no mood right now and picked up up, depositing her on the floor with a lot more care than he had Lau earlier before returning to his papers. "Could you get Ran to feed her while I'm out?" he added digging in his pocket for some money.

Lau caught his wrist, "She'd have fed hi anyway, keep the money," he ordered as he stood straight and began to make his way to the door, pausing only briefly to try and stroke Soot – only to be rebuffed with cat butt as she strutted off with a huff of discontent. "Use the official number when you make the call," he requested with a grin, "And let me see you before you head out," he added, grin turning lecherous. He ducked out before the hardback book Harry just threw impacted against the door.

"Cheeky bastard," Harry muttered getting to his feet and making his way to the bathroom. He had a party to get changed for.

Soot meowed plaintively.

_**000**_

"_Earl Ciel Phantomhive, and Lady Elizabeth Midford,_" the foreman announced crisply as Ciel stepped into the ballroom of his Aunt's latest lover, Lizzie hanging on his arm with Sebastian as their faithful, protective shadow. He gave the room a clear once over as he slowly descended the stairs carefully with his fiancé on his arm, a lot of eyes were watching and he couldn't afford to be anything but perfect.

"_Sir Marquis Alexis Midford, Dame Marchioness Frances Midford, and son, Master Edward Midford_."

Already Ciel could see his Aunt hurrying over, she looked happy, "Ciel! Ahh, I'm so glad you came!" the vivacious woman exclaimed, throwing propriety out of the window as she embraced both her nephew and her niece-to-be, pressing a kiss to both their foreheads, "Lizzie, I'm glad you manage to talk him into coming."

The blonde girl giggled, "Thank you, Aunt Ann, but it was not my doing," she refused.

Ciel sighed gently, standing on his tiptoes to place a kiss on his most beloved Aunt's cheek, "I would never miss your birthday, Aunt Ann. You look beautiful," he complimented honestly, smiling ever so slightly as his Aunt practically glowed under his praise. Both she and Elizabeth had been so gentle with him since his return, both had been so careful to not step on those painful memories and wounds, they never pushed, and Ciel could not even begin to tell them how grateful he was for that.

"_Lord John Forrester, and Miss Lillian Evans._"

Alexis Midford smiled broadly as he approached, Aunt Frances upon his arm, and Edward faithfully following in tow, already scowling irately at Ciel for stealing his sister away. "As always, our adorable Ciel knows how to charm the ladies. Though he is correct, you look radiant, Madam Red," he boomed, as hearty and as bashfully earnest as always.

Frances smiled, "May you have many more happy years, Ann," she said informally, slightly shocking the children as she took the younger woman in her arms, hugging her tightly.

Aunt Ann laughed and kissed Aunt Frances's cheek before giving Uncle Alexis a deep curtsy, "Thank you, Frances, Alexis. Please, ladies, gentlemen, eat, drink, relax," she told them, gesturing to the buffet table and the various waiters moving liquidly through the crowds with trays of wine glasses. "Lady Elizabeth, might I steal my nephew from your care a moment?" Aunt Ann asked teasingly.

Lizzie, of course, giggled and let her fiancé be whisked away.

Ciel didn't even look surprised when he was led into a side room and sat down, his Aunt kneeling in front of him, dressed in her finery and her face twisted in concern, "How are you, really Ciel?" she asked gently, cupping his cheek, "I worry about you living so far away with just your Butler. I'm sure he is very good, but I know you," she pointed out, rubbing a thumb against his cheek, "You are as stubborn as your mother. How is your asthma?" she asked.

Ciel couldn't stop his smile, "I am well, Aunt Ann. No attacks, no shortness of breath, no coughing or fevers or rattling lungs. Sebastian's cooking may leave something to be desired at present, but he has been taking very good care of me. I have not even fallen behind in my studies. I promise, Aunt Ann, I am as well as I can be," he assured her, catching her silk clad hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles gently. He did love his Aunt but... sometimes he found it hard to display that love anymore. He could see his mother in the shape of her nose, in the way her mouth would twist into a smile, how they both had freckles they tried to hide under face powder – freckles his father had always thought of as cute.

"Alright," Aunt Ann sighed in defeat, smiling wryly, "I shall stop badgering you," she said, climbing to her feet and pressing another kiss to his forehead – he was fairly certain she had left a lipstick imprint judging by the way she giggled briefly. He stoically fought down his blush of embarrassment as she licked the thumb of her black glove and gently rubbed the incriminating evidence away. "Let's go back in, goodness knows Edmund must be worried over my disappearance by now."

Back in the ballroom, Sebastian had his eyes fixed on someone who was both very familiar, and unfamiliar to him. He frowned, watching the young lady as she giggled and blushed and shied away coltishly, hiding her smile behind a lace fan. She was familiar to him, even the way she smelt was familiar. He just could not put his finger on it. He didn't think he had met a young lady akin to her. After all, the Young Master was something of a shut in.

Absently, he spotted the Young Master's return to Lady Elizabeth's side as Madam Red swanned through the crowds of well wishers with all the grace that a social butterfly of her calibre could be imagined to have.

And just then, he got that whiff of ozone.

Of fresh rain and the air immediately after a lightning strike.

It was subtle, half choked with something floral and flowery, the soft musk of feminine skin, and make-up powders. But it was there. He knew that scent. And Sebastian's attention once again snapped to the young lady he had noticed earlier. She was still smiling but there was... _something_ about her eyes. About those... lovely, green-green, eyes.

He felt his eyebrows climb up towards his hairline, eyes studying the young 'lady' from head to foot.

Dressed in a long delicate gown of jade green, gold lace and embroidery, she had thick mildly curly black hair, pulled back with a ribbon that started as a vivid rich emerald shade and faded to the same soft jade green as her jewellery at the ends of the ribbon. Her enchanting green eyes were lined with kohl and a faint dusting of gold and green face-powder, it made the green of her eyes all the more noticable as she locked gazes with Lord Melrose, whom she had just been introduced to. And judging by the expression on Lord Melrose's face, he was just as enthralled with those eyes as Sebastian himself.

It looked as though he had found their Song Bird sooner than expected. And in such... interesting garb at that!

He must have been there for a job. That or his crack about being a male whore was not quite as much of a joke as they had previously thought it to be. Still, he made his decision to have those eyes before the end of the night, either in a jar, or within the owner's head, but either way, he would be taking them back to the Phantomhive estate – as the Young Master had demanded.

_**000**_

With a quick, yet thorough, exploration of Lord Edmund Melrose's mind and memories, Harry came to the conclusion that the world would not miss this man, and be all the better for his death. The things that monster had done... It took a lot of self-control not to reach over and snap the man's neck with his so called 'dainty' hands.

"Truly lovely. You simply must tell me where you found her, Lord Forrester!" Melrose exclaimed, giving 'Lillian' another lecherous one over. Well, at least this made Harry's plans a lot easier.

Lord John laughed, a little strained because he was quite aware of whom was hiding under that dress and was both confused, revolted, and oddly horrified over how well the mercenary played his part. "An acquaintance of mine asked that I introduce his sister to society here in England while he took care of some business abroad, erm, now where was it? Er, Lillian?" he asked, turning to the 'girl' in the hopes of dodging the question.

She smiled, "My brother deals in silks and ceramics in China, sir. There was a problem with one of the silk-farms, something about predatory insects. You must excuse me, I have... something of a distaste toward them so I turned my attention else where during his explanation," Lillian explained with a small shudder of disgust.

"Quite all right! Ladies must not be expected to concern themselves with the intricacies of business!" Melrose proclaimed, making Harry's smile even more strained.

"Oh no, sir. Business I find to be quite interesting. It is insects that unfortunately turn my stomach over. I am currently studying finance in earnest so that I can help my brother with his work. He has an accountant, but the poor fellow is quite overworked, and two eyes are always better than one," he hastened to explain, gladly shutting the man up. Only, it was not to be.

On and on, the three of them chatted, Harry becoming increasingly tense as he realised a certain black clad bastard was watching him with a _very_ knowing smirk (he seriously was not human. Human eyes do not slit like that). Twice Harry was stolen away for a dance by an enterprising young man whom he had not spoken to yet that evening, who did his best to convince him of their eligibility and good grace.

Eventually, his patience reached the end of its tether.

"Would you please excuse me gentlemen? I need to freshen up," Harry demurred, stepping back with a gentle incline of his head to hide the shift of his mouth as he incanted the imperious curse.

"Ah, terribly sorry, m'lady, would you care for an escort? The halls are something of a maze, it wouldn't do for you to get turned around," Lord Melrose offered, smiling as he swept into a gallant bow.

Harry bit his lip and glanced to Lord Forrester who nodded and ushered him off. "Y-yes, thank you Lord Melrose. It is much appreciated," he exhaled and tucked her hand in his elbow, allowing him to lead her through one of the side doors.

Impressing a little deeper onto the Lord's subconscious, the man led Harry into one of the near-by offices, not a bathroom. This was going to hurt, and be uncomfortable, but it was needed. He issued the command.

And Lord Melrose grabbed his hair and waist. A brief scuffle ensued. Harry's hair was half torn out, the choker around his neck was roughly ripped away – leaving bruises. The lord tore at his sleeves and skirts, gripping his wrists and arms tightly. It was only after the man managed to get Harry against the desk and half on it, hiking his skirts up that he decided enough damage had been done to his person and let rip an ear-splitting screech, redoubling his efforts to escape, kicking his legs and screaming for help.

All too soon he heard the sound of thundering footsteps and groped blindly behind him for a lamp.

The door burst open and Harry swung with all his might, smashing the lamp into the side of Melrose's head, silently willing the metal bar not to buckle and crush his skull. Harry felt him die as the body slumped on top of him.

Still playing the hysterical woman, he screamed again and shoved him off, kicking the whole time and rolling off and away from the desk as quickly as possible. Landing in a heap on the floor and scooting backwards, clutching his lamp for dear life, keeping his eyes fixed on the now dead Lord Melrose and forcing his muscles to shake as violently as possible.

It was good acting if he did say so himself. Good enough for an Oscar at that!

He pretended not to notice the hubbub and chaos happening until a jacket was dropped over his shoulders, at which point he jerked and brandished his lamp in terror. And had it plucked clean out of his hands by a very familiar face, studying him with cinder red eyes, and a knowing half smile.

"Are you quite alright, my lady?" the Phantomhive Butler inquired, laying his jacket more firmly over Harry's shoulders, gripping his hand tight enough for the bones to grind together painfully.

_**000**_

**And that's chapter three finished! XDDD Hope you guys have enjoyed.**

**Brief timeline:**

**Ciel was abducted on his 10th birthday: December 14th of the year 1885**

**He was held captive for a month, so returns: Late January.**

**Harry appears for the first time on the Phantomhive Estate: Early March.**

**Ciel is redubbed an Earl by the Queen: March 10th 1886.**

**I'm deciding that Madam Red/Aunt Ann's birthday is June 6. Ergo, the current date is June 7 (As it has just gone midnight).**

**Finni, Baldroy, and Maylenne won't be recruited until Ciel's 11th birthday in December. **


	4. That Butler Married

**ROLL THE BONES**

_I do not own Harry Potter, Kuroshitsuji, or Neverwhere. They are property of JK Rowling, Yana Tobosa, and Neil Gaiman. This is fanfiction, be prepared to have your canon smothered in honey and consumed by mutant ants from the planet Zogglebimblewump – its bananaberry coloured with elephantbutt polka dots._

**Hired to investigate the no longer derelict Phantomhive Estate, Harry gets caught up in something more annoying than Squatters when he finds himself blackmailed into being the Housekeeper.**

Warnings: Slash, Crossdressing, Quiet!Competent!Perceptive!Immortal!Harry, (Surprise!)!Undertaker. Sebastian/Harry, Lizzie/Ciel.

_**000**_

CHAPTER FOUR

That Butler... _Married?_

Oh he was good.

Sebastian could only grin as he witnessed the 'girl' lead Lord Melrose out, the scent of ozone clinging to the pair of them like loving mist. Idly, he wondered what on earth she had planned. An assassination would be too obvious, she would have the finger pointed at her almost immediately, and in such a high society party like this she would never get away and the Yard would _have_ to be involved.

He tilted his head, hearing the sounds of a scuffle, and heavy male panting. Now what was – a scream tore the air, and Sebastian felt his eyebrow shoot up. That was most definitely their Song Bird but why on earth was she bringing attention to herself now of all times? Lord Melrose was in no way capable of doing anything that she would not allow, not with her kind of power.

With a quick glance to his Lord, Sebastian rushed forward at his nod, along with Sir Midford and his family, several servants and Madam Red trotting after them as fast as possible with Ciel trying to shake Lady Elizabeth off as they made for one of the near-by offices that the hysterical screaming was coming from.

The last thing they expected to see was Lord Melrose bent over a struggling young woman pushed backwards over his desk, before any of them could even think of pulling him off her, the screeching girl lashed out – smashing one of Melrose's lamps into his skull. Sebastian was the only one to hear the subtle crumpling of the man's skull as it caved in under the force of the blow.

Melrose slumped over the still hysterical woman who roughly threw him off her and rolled off the desk, landing on all fours and scrambling backwards, eyes fixed upon him and clutching the broken lamp like a shield.

And while everyone present lingered by the door or rushed to Lord Melrose, he approached the girl, stripping his jacket and gently dropping it onto her shoulders. He was, perhaps, the only one in the room to notice her pupils were not dilated with terror, and nor was her heart hammering as it should have been. He had to applaud her though, wonderful acting as she jerked and whipped around, trying to hit him with her broken lamp.

He easily plucked it from her 'trembling' fingers and set it aside, keeping hold of her hand as he adjusted the jacket over her somewhat bruised shoulders, eyes lingering on the livid bruising beginning to form around her throat and face, and tracing her tear-blotched face with its messy make-up.

"Are you quite alright, my lady?" he asked, smirking a touch as he tightened his grip on her hand. Oh yes, this was their Song Bird. Those eyes... had they been just a slightly different shade he would have assumed her to be a Shinigami. But no. They weren't human, but nor were they that disgusting shade of chemical green-gold poison that a Shinigami possessed.

Recognition fluttered in those eyes before a glint of something else did.

Sebastian stiffened as the girl promptly flung herself into his chest, gripping his clothing tightly and positively wailing against him, he had to fight his initial reaction to snap her neck, and then to shove her off him when he smelt the unmistakable acrid reek of ammonia. Oh, all the lords of the damned, there was playing your part, but then there was playing your part a little _too_ well! She had soiled herself and was now very pointedly trying to climb into his lap and wiping make-up all over his front and doing her damn best to scream his ear-drums into uselessness.

"Butler, is the young lady harmed at all?" Marchioness Midford demanded, marching over to the pair of them.

He offered the Lady a strained smile, "Bruises and grazes. However, I feel that the mental traumas may, perhaps, be more intensive." And as if to punctuate his words, her wails doubled in volume and he couldn't stop himself from wincing as she hit a pitch that made his demonic hearing positively _ring_ with discomfort. "Marchioness, if I may? The young lady seems to have... had an accident of a personal nature. Perhaps we could impress upon the staff to provide some clean clothes, and possibly a bath for the young lady? Her clothing will be needed for Evidence at the Yard, and I feel it best to calm her down and see to her needs before their arrival," he allowed, tightening his grip on the girl warningly as her wailing hiccuped and subsided into weak sobs.

Frances nodded, "I will speak with Madam Red." She glanced over her shoulder to where the scarlet clad woman was slumped in one of the armchairs, chalk white and horrified, her butler fluttering around her anxiously fanning her with a red cloth.

Sebastian waited until the Marchioness had moved away before bending his head forward, using the guise of comforting the young lady to speak with her as he rubbed 'soothing' circled against her back.

"That was quite some performance," he observed feeling her tremble against him.

"You would know all about those, wouldn't you?" came the whispered undertone. "Can you stop crushing my hands? Or would you like to explain the new bruises to the Yard?" Harry added. Sebastian loosened his grip and felt the boy flex and curl his fingers as he shuddered and sniffled against him. "How did the Little Lord like my parting gift?"

"Oh he was positively thrilled," the Butler retorted sarcastically, suddenly reminded of his desire to flay the little bastard, "He was so delighted, he demanded I fetch you immediately so we could both express our... _appreciation_," he explained with a malicious purr. The problem was, far from being intimidated, Harry started to laugh, luckily being able to disguise his mirth against the now thoroughly ruined fabric of his once beautifully clean white shirt.

"Sebastian," speak of the devil.

"Young Master?" the Butler acknowledged and asked at the same time, looking up at the stony faced pre-teen. His eyebrow was arched curiously, and his one visible eye widened when Sebastian flashed him an almost predatory smirk for all of a heartbeat. It was enough though.

"Please escort the young lady into the other room. Aunt Frances has laid out some clothes for her and there is a basin of hot water for her to freshen up with," he detailed coolly, watching with a frigid sapphire eye as the demon, not so gently, pulled the girl to her feet. Her make up and hair was ruined, and she was littered with bruises. But one glimpse was enough. This was that sneak-thief bastard who broke in several months ago and got out without Sebastian being able to track him down. How... fortuitous that they should run into one another once again. And with such, unique circumstances.

Ciel smirked ever so slightly as Sebastian escorted the girl out of the room and into another. He did not return. That was fine, Ciel would enter when his Butler gestured him in. Even though he was fully aware that the so called young lady was in fact, a man, no one else was enlightened to this information. It would be seen as incredibly improper for his presence while she was changing. Sebastian would be excused as a butler and also as the one person she had latched onto in her trauma.

Though Ciel had to wonder how true that trauma was.

_**000**_

Harry sighed as he stripped himself out of his filthy urine soaked petticoats and bloomers with a grimace of disgust, leaving them to drop on the floor as he kicked himself free of shoes and stockings – also soiled. He gave the non-human barely even a glance as he began the methodical removal of his clothing. Being his age, there was humiliating, and then there was getting the job done. He remembered one memorable stint working as an SAS Sniper, that was positively _gruelling_. Ah, no wait, he had forgotten. The British Military did not have '_snipers_'. They had '_Marksmen_'. Much more civilised. And much better trained. Urinating oneself in order to remain in position to catch a target was part of his training, along with long periods of starvation. Luckily, he was so used to such things, he ended up top of his class with very little effort. And all those years he sent chasing after a wallnut sized target moving at three-hundred miles per hour, in mid air, in any kind of weather, with shitty out of date glasses, had given Harry eyes that worked better than the fucking sniper scopes they were issued. Still, despite his training, he still detested the sensation, and embarrassment, of pissing on himself.

Sebastian however, was both surprised and a little fascinated. He stepped forward and caught the crossdresser's wrist, "How is this possible?" he demanded curiously, reaching out and cupping what was _unmistakably_ a breast. Soft, fleshy, very female, and very attached. He knew full well that the man had not flipped into a woman, though his genitalia were embarrassingly and hilariously tiny, they were undeniably there. Which did not explain how his hair had grown to such lengths (it was not a wig as he had believed earlier), nor had his hips, waist, shoulders, hands, and chest became so... feminine.

"It's called magic," the younger man sneered, "And would you let go? It is rather cold." Sebastian could indeed feel the nipple under his palm beginning to pinch and tightened his grip a second, causing Harry to hiss in discomfort and confirm a theory.

"They aren't fake, or solid illusions."

"Of course they aren't. _Relashio_!" Sebastian grunted as his hands were promptly flung away from the younger man's body as he shot him a scowl over his shoulder. Sebastian pursed his lips and stepped back, watching as he began to wash away both make up and urine from himself. "I used Transfiguration to shift my body mass from place to place and change the pheromones my skin produces, its likely why you didn't pick up on my scent immediately because its female now. Downside is my dick shrinks from the over abundance of oestrogen in my system, but that has its advantages as well," he explained as he perfunctorily went about cleaning himself before tossing the cloth back into the basin and drying off.

"The question is, why would you do it? I thought your kind had particular attachment to their sexual identity," he mused. The Young Master certainly had his hang ups, and to say nothing of Lady Elizabeth and her mother's ideas of propriety and Madam Red's frankly outlandish theories on how girls should behave.

Harry smirked at him from over his shoulder, "Because it was funny at the time," he retorted as if that were reason enough. Then again, Sebastian had known some very, erm, _unique_ individuals, and for some, that would have been more than a good enough reason. "No one looks twice at girls. Not in this society. People are wary around the Marchioness Midford because she is dangerous and as straight laced as you can get. It intimidates people so they behave themselves, they watch what they're doing twice as hard. In contrast, her daughter is as frivolous as it gets, so people's guard relaxes, but they're still wary because she is her mother's daughter. Girls like I was pretending to be tonight... well, no one looks twice unless it's to ogle."

"Ogle?" Sebastian echoed curiously, he was unfamiliar with that word.

"Means to stare. Often studying the other subject's more physically pleasing attributes," he explained as he began to dress, pulling on bloomers, petticoats, and a simple plain cotton dress in charcoal grey. Now, normally he would have make a comment on the other man's ease with female clothing, and how grey suited him but the other dress suited him better, just to get a rise, but that wasn't going to work. Harry was singularly unruffled by him for the most part, and it wasn't entirely forced. He really did not care. Sebastian smirked, he would have to find other ways of ruffling the little Birdie's feathers.

But first, time to call the Young Master in.

As expected, the impatient little brat was stood outside, tapping his foot and cane grumpily. He straightened up and marched past his Butler before the demon could even utter a word. So impatient, Sebastian lamented as he followed the Young Master back inside, closing and locking the door.

"You've caused a lot of trouble tonight, _Harry_," the little Lordling sneered, glaring at the quasi-woman.

Harry raised an eyebrow, "I have? Well, shucks, he shouldn't have tried to put his dick where it wasn't appreciated then," he snapped in retort. Sebastian refrained from snickering when he saw the Young Master's reflexive flinch at the other's absolutely foul language, ahh, sometimes being a proper young English Gentleman had its downsides. Like now. Poor Ciel's delicate virgin ears, they must have been burning with all the profanities.

"What are you even doing here?" Ciel demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"I don't see how it is _any_ of your business, but I did tell you I moonlit as a prostitute. Of course, poor guy didn't know that. He just thought I was the sister of a business associate who asked him to introduce me to the social scene. I'm here, little Lordling, because I was bored. And wanted to get some gossip of what was going on in the high society. I do show up at these events fairly often for that reason alone. This is just the first time someone has shown themselves to be so vulgar," he explained sharply, folding his arms as he sat at the foot of the bed, those lovely green eyes as sharp as his favourite silverware and narrowed upon the Young Master.

A light flicked on in Sebastian's mind, and his smirk broadened into something truly vicious, "Ah yes, Lord John Forrester, yes?" he probed mirthfully, watching with mild satisfaction as those eyes turned toward him. "Lord Forrester entered into a number of negotiations during your absence to try and buy the Phantomhive lands, as the line was considered dead. If memory serves..." he trailed off, smirk widening, "He broke off those negotiations not long after you bid us goodbye."

"He is the one who hired you to assassinate me," Ciel summed up, rather neatly.

Harry snorted, "Arrogant and irritating as you are, brat." Ciel trembled with rage at the insult, "I don't kill children." He got to his feet and stalked forward towering over the little Lordling and getting into his face, "Lord Forrester asked me to make sure it was actually you, or your Aunt, who had renewed the property. Or some squatters with money and contacts. You would be surprised at how many old estates have been fixed up and appropriated by criminal elements." No, no he wouldn't have been. It was quite common in Italy and Spain. "It was information retrieval only. Had he asked me to dispose of you, my response would be to research you as thoroughly as possible to see whether or not you deserved it." A toothy grin crossed the young-seeming man's face, "Just like dear Lord Melrose _did_."

"Never the less, you _will_ have to answer for your crime," Ciel growled, "Lord Melrose is the beloved second cousin of Queen Victoria."

"What crime?" Harry demanded with a small smirk as he stepped back, "Self Defence and Manslaughter. No jury would ever convict an innocent girl new to the social scene who used a desk lamp to hit a man trying to rape her."

Ciel's eyes darkened, "But it wasn't Manslaughter. It was calculated. Someone requested his death and you researched him, otherwise, how would you know he deserved it?" he asked, a dark smirk beginning to curl on his lips. "It was a premeditated murder."

A glint of amusement shone in those green-green eyes, he leaned forward again, "Prove it," he purred in the little Lord's ear, eyes canting upward to Sebastian as a challenging smirk curled on his lips.

Ciel's hand snapped up to grab his hair, "I don't have to. If I say it was you, the Queen will believe it. She won't ask for proof, or an explanation. She'll just have you executed. But of course, that won't work." His grip on the curly dark hair in his hand tightened, "Which means the tower. Just like I promised."

Harry laughed, and suddenly there was a hand on Ciel's throat, and Sebastian was thrown against the wall, hard.

"And what makes you think I'll let you leave this room alive?" he asked delicately, "Careful little Lordling, keep talking like that, and I'll have to include you in the big boy games." There was a very dark promise in those eyes, one that made Ciel's blood chill for all of the split second it took before Sebastian was there – and Harry was on the otherside of the room, hitting the far wall feet first, and flipping off.

Sebastian's smile was pure cruel professionalism, "My apologies Young Master. A miscalculation on my part." He wasn't the only one who made that mistake, Ciel nodded in acceptance of the demon's apology. They had both tripped, thinking that Ciel's age would protect him from Harry's more murderous actions – but apparently if Ciel was going to continue to push, then he should expect the man to push back, and likely with something pointy and sharp in his hands.

Harry idly brushed himself off, "Does your precious Queen know that her beloved son has been smuggling slave ships in and out of the country?" he asked bluntly, rubbing at his hair where Ciel had been pulling before.

This caused both Earl, and demon to pause in mild shock.

"I'll take that as a no. The files are in his office, the room we just left. Bottom draw in the beaurou, there's a small hinge at the back, push it and the false bottom will lift, revealing a key. That key is for the safe hidden behind the bookcase to the right of the desk. It's behind the collection of green leather encyclopedias. All the proof is in there, along with the other naughty things he had his fingers and other assorted body parts into," Harry explained lightly as he began to braid the loose curls back before knotting them. They almost immediately sprung free, much to his annoyance before he liberated a length of ribbon from a desk draw and tied it back. "The world will not miss that man," he promised darkly.

"That's not your choice to make," Ciel stated coldly.

Harry scoffed, "No it isn't. But it's a choice _someone_ has to make. And when good men stand by and do nothing, evil like that prospers." He looked down at the child, "You _know_ what I'm talking about. When you have money, when you have connections, you answer to no one, and nothing. You're rotten, right down to the core. And then there's no saving you." Ciel felt another chill. Speaking with Harry was bad for his health, he decided. The older man knew too much about human nature, he was too observant, too bitter, too jaded. He didn't think himself above everyone or everything, but he looked at the world so objectively, it was almost as intimidating as Sebastian's inhuman perspective that took unholy amusement in the cruellest atrocities and called humans adorably interesting for them.

"Never the less," Ciel continued, "Edmund Melrose is still Queen Victoria's family. As Earl Phantomhive, I cannot allow you to leave without facing justice. The Phantomhive family exists to obliterate the Queen's sorrows."

Harry shrugged a shoulder, "Oh well, that is a shame. She'll just have to cry into her pillow at night, like everyone else," he added ruthlessly with a cold glare. "Do not expect me to be patriotic toward this rancid monarchy and crumbling country," he hissed hatefully. "Now if you don't mind, I have a statement to give to the Yard, they should have arrived by now," he mused, checking the clock on the mantlepiece.

Ciel glanced to his Butler who shook his head, with his advanced senses he would have heard them pull up in the gravel drive.

"Restrain him, Sebastian," Ciel commanded sharply.

"Yes, my Lord."

Ciel hadn't seen the last confrontation between Sebastian and Harry, but if it were anything like this... he was sorry to have missed it. Sebastian was demonic, obviously, fast, ruthless, and powerful. But Harry was agile and flexible in a way the demon could not quite match. Nimble too. It was almost like watching a dance as Harry spun under a clawed grab from the butler, jumping high as it turned into a back-handed strike.

Ciel would have thought that the dress the assassin wore would have been quite a handicap, but he kept doing this thing with his ankle that swept the fabric out of Sebastian's grasp everytime he went to grab it. Not once did it tangle the man's legs or flip up obscuring his sight.

Harry stayed in obnoxiously close to Sebastian. Not letting him use that superior speed or power to capture him. But Sebastian had many more years of experience on the young immortal. Harry was doing everything in his power, even feeding magic directly to his muscles, just to stay that scant inch out of the demon's grasp. All of his concentration was focused on avoiding him.

So much so, that he didn't notice when he was boxed into a corner.

Sebastian's grin widened as realisation sparked in those lovely eyes, feeling the thrill of adrenaline burning up and down his body. He rarely had such a fun challenge while pandering to the Young Master, not any more it seemed. Their little Song Bird had a most curious fighting style, very delicate and flowing, all of his strength didn't mean overly much when the smaller male ducked, twisted, and dodged around his attacks, or merely redirected them with very controlled movements that would have made any human on the receiving end stumble and lose their balance. Even most minor demons would have suffered such problems. But, he was old, he was old and had fought in the Death Wars against the Shinigami dispatch squads. He had not lived this long on pure luck.

And he recognised Eastern Martial arts when he saw them!

Harry dove forward, Sebastian's hands flashed down.

The wizard slid between the demon's legs, rolling and flipping back to his feet, shuddering violently as he bit his lower lip hard enough to break the skin, sending blood dribbling down his chin.

Sebastian grinned, "Oh, so it did work. Wonderful," he crowed enthusiastically. Truthfully, he hadn't expected it to but what a spot of good luck, he decided as he cracked his knuckles and smiled broadly.

He lunged forward and slammed the other man against the wall, he gagged for air and lashed out – Sebastian grunted in discomfort and surprise as a thumb pierced his eye. Reflexively, he dropped the boy who then grabbed both his forearms and yanked him down, right onto a viciously upthrusting knee. Well. It looked as if he was through just defending himself.

But even Ciel could see the difference. Harry was slower, not as strong. And Sebastian was easily dominating the fight.

"Stop playing, Sebastian. I ordered you to restrain him!" he barked, and a split second later, Harry was back to chest with the demon, his hands behind his back, and his neck in the demon's grasp.

"Of course, Young Master. Forgive my tardiness," the Butler apologised with a mild-mannered smile that fooled no one in the room.

"Bastard," Harry hissed panting, "What did you do?"

Sebastian's smirk widened into something distinctly malicious, "I blocked your magic off, didn't I?" he purred happily, glancing up at the Young Master whose eyebrow arched in approval. "I wasn't certain, but it seems as though my little risk paid off. Eastern pressure-points."

Harry bit his bloody lip again, mentally cursing. He supposed the Chinese acupuncture and pressure point system was the closest to a magic circulatory system, it did flow through mages like blood, just in different pipes. But in all the worlds he had visited, he had to arrive in the only one where they not only got it right, and have someone realise this and exploit it. This... this was just his fucking luck. Someone upstairs was royally screwing with him.

He could feel the, whatever he was, laughing. Too quietly for the child to hear, but with his back against his chest, they were both well aware of the creature's hilarity.

Ciel's smirk wavered, Harry could see a triumphant grin trying to force its way through to settle onto his lips but valiantly, the child managed to master himself. "So," he began, tapping his cane on the floor. "Do you wish to rethink my earlier offer?" he asked lightly, laughter glinting in that big blue eye.

Harry laughed in his face.

_**000**_

Frances was shocked and horrified, never would she have thought that Lord Edmund would have been a predatory of such a nature! She had been close enough to have overheard some of the Yard's interrogation of the poor girl and she could have sworn her blood ran cold when she heard what that monster had said to her. Furious, worried, and scared, she commanded Ciel's butler to accompany her into the attic along with two of the Yard officers. What they found was sickening.

She knew it was Ciel's responsibility as the last Phantomhive to hide this from the public eye, divorce it from the Queen and her immediate family, but how was he to do that when there was a room of dead _children_ here! They were, all of them, horribly mutilated, abused, and starved. And she was not blind to the way the Butler immediately covered his nose with a grimace of disgust – the reek of death did not quite hide the scent of sex and the bedsheets, filthy and bloodstained, showed that evidence all the better.

"Marchioness," the butler called, picking something from a desk table, "It looks like a key to a safe," he observed, handing her the small silver skeleton key.

She nodded, giving the room a glance over, "There won't be one in here. Come. We shall return to the office. If there is to be a safe, if would be in there. We shall leave this shop of horrors to the Yard." And it pained her, it pained her so severely to think of all those little girls whose mother's must be wondering where they were, those little girls who spent their last weeks, last months of life, sobbing their eyes out, in pain, cold, scared, and violated.

Beside the furious Marchioness, Sebastian was thinking hard, and mildly impressed. Harry's research was certainly good. That attic door was well sealed, until it was opened Sebastian had not caught a single whiff of the rank soup of scents stewing in there. It was so powerful and sudden, he had been forced to cover his mouth and nose so he did not end up gagging, or vomiting. The reek of human waste was a truly revolting one.

It hadn't been too difficult to pretend the key had been in the attic all along, now he just had to subtly steer the Marchioness to the safe and have her discover the papers and such. No one would ever doubt her word. She had quite bluntly informed the Yard members that she had collared that she had accidentally overheard some of the interrogation and wished to verify whether or not it was true before promptly dragging the two men upstairs. No one was going to believe that she was even capable of lying or withholding the truth. Where as if he were the one to find the papers... there would be gossip. After all, he had indeed come out of nowhere on the back of the Young Master's abduction. There was always talk.

He had literally just managed to draw the Marchioness's attention to where he wished it to go, when the office door opened and the inspectors who had been interrogating Harry returned, the young 'girl' in tow, looking tearful and shaking as she mopped her eyes with a borrowed handkerchief.

And, like the good little actress, she immediately moved toward him and burrowed herself against his chest, letting loose with a fresh round of crying. Sebastian could only sigh quietly in a mix of amusement and exasperation as he began to 'comfort' her. Harry had made his opinion of him abundantly clear in the other room but goodness gracious, he was _very_ good at playing a part. If Sebastian had not known, well... even he would have been fooled. Had he been human.

Inspector Kent sighed, "We're not pressing any charges, it seems as though the evidence speaks for itself. Though how we are to explain this to Her Majesty..." he trailed off, sounding quite overwhelmed and upset.

"That is not all you will have to explain to Her Ladyship," the Marchioness interrupted, sounding horrified and furious at the same time. "Upstairs, the butler and I found a key. It seems to fit this safe here. These were inside, Inspector," she explained handing over the various files liberated from within the safe.

Even Harry peeked out from his clothing to see that they were the files he had mentioned earlier.

"My god... He's had his fingers in slave trade, organ smuggling, gun running, and some kind of Black Magic Cult?" the Inspector spluttered, horrified.

Sebastian was the only one to feel Harry smirk against his shirt.

_**000**_

Ciel sighed as they made their way back home, "I do not understand. Slavery, yes, I can see that, even the gun running. But Organs and Black magic? How much of that was forged, and how much of that was real?" the little Earl asked, looking to his butler.

"All of it was real, actually," he refuted, sounding a little vexed. "Lord Melrose was a busy bee in between dalliances with your aunt. Speaking of, did she cope well?" he asked, sounding a little amused.

Ciel sneered at him, "Of course not." Aunt Ann had nearly been beside herself when she found out about the children upstairs, her Butler looked almost just as bad, the two of them needing to excuse themselves rather rapidly. He hadn't seen her since, likely as not she had returned home. Children were always a sore point for Aunt Ann after she lost her own, and the ability to have more. She never deserved that pain, not one bit of it, and Ciel dearly wished he could change that for her. He tried, he tried to hard, to always have time for his beloved Aunt. He called often, to make sure she was well, sent her extravagant gifts now and then (That Sebastian usually went to pick up), but he had only been back for six months now and he had been so wrapped up in trying to keep Funtom's head above water level that he had not been able to be as attentive as usual. Hence allowing her to even be near Melrose. Had he known of her newest lover, he would have had Sebastian research the bastard as thoroughly as possible, and warn him away.

He vowed to be more diligent toward his Aunt from now on.

"Job done," he mused, "It would have been easy to slip out of a window, pretend there had never been a Lillian Evans present." He looked over, "So why didn't you?"

Harry smirked bitterly, "I dislike being badgered into taking assassination jobs. So I simply stuck around to make sure certain pieces of evidence were found. Those Organ smuggling papers and Black magic cult stuff, they lead right back to my employer and several other unscrupulous individuals the world could do without. Besides, there never was a Lillian Evans at that party. Just a poor little American girl no one can remember the name or face of."

Ciel glowered at him, just like Sebastian, he had managed to take on someone that was bad for his health, but in a different way. This one he couldn't control, not completely.

"When we return to the house you will take on the role of Housekeeper," Ciel declared, deciding to ignore the previous subject matter as it no longer had anything to do with them. "You will receive the same level of pay as Sebastian, as well as the same liberties. Your duties shall be the upkeep of the mansion, preparation of foods, laundry, and anything that Sebastian or I request of you."

Harry inclined his head, sarcastic little smirk on his mouth, "Of course, little Lordling," he demurred, voice mocking in a way that had a nerve in Ciel's cheek jump.

"Also, in order to maintain your cover," he continued, voice strained with irritation, "As there is no such thing as a male housekeeper, you shall hence forth be known as Harriet Michaelis."

A nasty little smile curled on the Earl's lips, "Sebastian's _wife_."

_**000**_

**Ta'dah! Yeah. Ciel's pulling out all the troll-stops in order to piss Harry off for being an asshole. Funstuff.**


	5. That Butler Cunning

**ROLL THE BONES**

_I do not own Harry Potter, Kuroshitsuji, or Neverwhere. They are property of JK Rowling, Yana Tobosa, and Neil Gaiman. This is fanfiction, be prepared to have your canon consumed by the forces of the damned, shit out and then dumped somewhere unpleasant and used as potion ingredients in a flatulence prank sweet._

**Hired to investigate the no longer derelict Phantomhive Estate, Harry gets caught up in something more annoying than Squatters when he finds himself blackmailed into being the Housekeeper.**

Warnings: Slash, Crossdressing, Quiet!Competent!Perceptive!Immortal!Harry, (Surprise!)!Undertaker. Sebastian/Harry, Lizzie/Ciel.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**That Butler... Cunning**

Ciel was mildly gratified to witness Harry's eyebrow shoot up, Sebastian's eyes widen, and the two to exchange looks as if to confirm that they had both just heard him correctly. What followed next, was not quite as gratifying.

Harry started laughing.

Not the nasty bark of malicious enjoyment and amusement he had given a few times before, but actual belly-aching laughter that left him red faced, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath as he tried to wrestle his laughter into some semblance of control. There were even tears being squeezed out from the merry creases that his eyes had turned into as he curled up on the carriage bench, positively howling with mirth.

In contrast, Sebastian's expression was remarkably sour, "Young Master, are you sure that such a decision is wise?" he questioned grimly, red eyes canting sideways to the hysterical immortal with delicate distaste radiating from them.

Ciel sniffed, and did his best to ignore the immortal as he addressed his butler, twitching only slightly as the wizard pounded a fit against the wall, choking on his laughter as he struggled for breath. It was very irritating. "Given the nature of our newest member of staff, around the clock observation is required. During the day there shall be plenty of chores and tasks that need seeing to, and escape during daylight hours is much more difficult than during the night hours where the darkness affords more than a considerable about of cover – WOULD YOU STOP LAUGHING?!"

Harry just laughed even harder.

Ciel tch'ed and turned his attention back to Sebastian, "I expect you to fulfil your duties to the letter. A cover is pointless unless it is believable. This is an Order, Sebastian. I expect it to be followed to the utmost, as always."

_**000**_

All in all, the little Master got his way.

Still clad in the charcoal grey dress, Harry followed Sebastian to the servants quarters of the Phantomhive estate, giggling a little every now and again as he went. All the while, the demon tried to think of a way to make the best of this situation. It went without saying that he couldn't let on that he wasn't human, that he was a demon, humans had odd notions about the soul and if he was reading Harry right, then he would be one of the first to attempt killing him. Which was not an acceptable solution in Sebastian's opinion (for the simple fact that he got the very unsettled idea that he could actually do so if he put his mind to it). So he would have to behave as a human. Which... well, it meant the luxury of sleep, something he did enjoy. And eating, even if human food often left something to be desired – souls tasted so much better and were much more filling. It also meant he would be able to rebuff the harpy women's advances by virtue of being wed, so he wouldn't have to deal with such annoyances in the line of his work with the Young Master.

His eyes slid sideways. There was also his wife himself to take into consideration.

Those eyes were enchanting. They alone made this whole thing acceptable in his opinion, the fact that the little immortal could match him blow for blow in close combat was also cause for pleasure as well as amusement. And... while he was hardly a common incubus, there was also more personal pleasures to be had if his memories of human marriage were correct. To love, honour, and _obey_. Yes, he could work with that quite nicely.

They came to a stop at his quarters, now theirs. It was a perfectly serviceable room. The walls were plain cream coloured paint and plaster, no paper. Unvarnished wooden floorboards. On the left hand side was a large walnut wardrobe, chest of draws, and wash basin. On the right was a desk with several cookery books upon it, and a rather unused fireplace. Against the far wall, jutting into the middle of the room was a plain wrought-iron single bed with brown bed covers, and a bedside table with a lamp on the left. There were no personal affects that Harry could see as he followed the butler inside, door closing with a thunk behind him.

He tried to ignore the ominous zing in the pit of his stomach.

"Nice place. Bit impersonal though," he observed as he kicked his shoes off by the door.

Sebastian observed him for a moment before smirking a little, "Well, surely it would be my _wife's_ responsibility to turn a house into a home?" he retorted as he removed his tie with a hiss of silk. He heard the immortal laugh as he too slipped his shoes off and tucked them neatly beside the wardrobe.

"Touché," he returned. "So..." Sebastian glanced over his shoulder as the immortal sauntered across the room and dropped down onto the bed, crossing his legs and eyeing him thoughtfully, "How do we handle this?" he asked lightly making a lazy gesture that encompassed the room, the both of them, and likely as not indicated the near future as well.

The demon hummed in the back of his throat as he unbuttoned his waist coat and slid it off, "Tomorrow we shall return to where-ever it is you are staying in order to collect your personal belongings. The Young Master will likely as not have plans for you to visit a tailor, Miss Hopkins, in order to order several uniforms. After that, we shall return to the estates where you and I shall go through your duties while the Young Master handles his paperwork," he explained folding his waist coat and setting it atop the chest of draws before beginning to unbutton his shirt.

"And us?"

His fingers stilled and a slow smirk curled onto his lips, "As the Young Master has commanded. A cover, unless believable, is pointless." He turned and advanced on the Song-bird, red eyes locking with green. "A cover maintained at all hours, even behind closed doors. Until it is no longer a mere cover, but a matter of fact."

The immortal leaned back on the palms of his hands, foot bouncing a little, he never broke eye contact, even as he tilted his head coyly, "So, the husband and wife duo, hmm? It's been a _very_ long time since I was last married." He smirked then, eyes lidding as he looked up at the demon through long eyelashes, "And you didn't even get me a ring. How cheap," he teased languidly.

Sebastian couldn't stop the smirk of amusement widening on his mouth, "My apologies, dear. I shall correct this oversight at the first opportunity," he demurred with a graceful inclination of his head.

"So you should."

There was a moment of silence as he continued to stare into those exquisite eyes, and, unwilling to admit weakness, Harry refused to look away. At least until they heard the chiming of the grandfather clock in the hall-way. They listened to the chimes that declared it getting on to two o'clock in the morning before the immortal sighed and flopped back, breaking eye contact. Sebastian was under no illusion that he had won that exchange, merely that the human had gotten bored with it.

"I really hope you're not a blanket hog," the immortal abruptly declared, making Sebastian pause.

"Blanket hog?" he echoed dubiously, what did that even mean?

"Someone who steals all the bed covers," the Song-bird elaborated as he stared up at the ceiling.

The demon smirked, red eyes gleaming in the relative gloom of the bedroom, the only light being that from the candles on the bedside. "You won't have to worry about that tonight," he pointed out as he finished unbuttoning his shirt and slipped it off, folding it and setting it atop his waistcoat. He heard Harry scoff behind him and felt his smirk widen as a low burn ignited in the pit of his stomach. It had been a while. "It occurs to me, traditionally, upon being married, is there not a _Wedding Night_?" Sebastian asked, adding a delicate but unmistakeable emphasis on the words.

He was gratified to hear the ever so sudden spike of the other male's heart-rate and the stalling of his breath for all of a split second.

There was silence for a moment before Harry rolled backwards and Sebastian pounced. However, the former was a little faster and put the bed between them, face twitching a little in annoyance even as he smiled.

"Such a thing, can we even be called married without a ring, or exchange of vows?" he asked sharply, body tense like a coiled spring ready to move at the butler's slightest twitch in his direction. Sebastian's grin was all sharp teeth and feral amusement, the grin of a predator enjoying a hunt. Harry knew full well it would be easier for him to laugh it off, but his immediate reaction had been to recoil, there was something about the inhuman butler that set him on edge. Swift movements had him reacting without realisation or consciousness. He would never admit the man scared him on some level. Not after all the shit he had lived through.

"Our lord has declared it so, and thus by the law, even without a church to recognise it, we are husband and wife," the demon purred in amusement.

Harry scoffed, "You will have to forgive my reluctance to let you, ah, wet the tip, so to speak after you spent so much time stabbing other things into my body."

Sebastian gave a bark of laughter, "Is one of the laws of marriage not that a wife must honour and obey her husband, and look to his needs in all things?" he asked slyly. There was a look of revulsion on the man's face. Sebastian's arm snapped out and caught the front of that dress, wrenching the immortal forward where he fell face first over the bed, the demon placing a knee on his back to keep him from moving.

"And people wonder why I'm an Atheist," he grunted under the butler's weight.

A split second before a horse took his place.

Sebastian jerked backwards out of sheer shock, and then his bed broke. The metal warping and snapping under the stallion's weight before the creature staggered to his feet and whinneyed at him, lips pulling back to display white flat teeth. He was quite certain he was being mocked.

It was a beautiful stallion. He recognised it as the horse he saw in the field the day he followed the immortal the first time. He then realised that he hadn't managed to escape as merely waited for them to leave and gone the other direction. Cheeky bastard! His reluctant respect went up a notch and he smirked then as the horse stepped away from the now broken bed, tail swishing this way and that.

They locked eyes.

There was a pause as Sebastian stared up at his... 'wife'.

He smirked, "Well, this shall be problematic. But..." he trailed off, smirk widening, "I am the butler of the Phantomhive family. It does without saying that I can manage something like this," he stated with a smirk as he took a step towards the horse currently occupying his bedroom, black nailed fingers unbuttoning his trousers as he did so.

Harry snorted, tossing his head in distress and immediately became human once more, his eyes bugging out as he scrambled away from the demon, "You were willing to fuck a horse?!" he practically shrieked in a mixture of disbelief and revulsion – a split second before the butler caught his wrist and neatly flipped him over where he landed on the broken bed with an oomf. He kept hold of the deceptively thin wrist in his hand, smiling slyly.

"Of course. No matter what form, my wife is my wife, and a Wedding Night must be had. As is tradition. I shall attend to every detail, as my Master had ordered me," he intoned coyly, red eyes gleaming as they stared down into stunned green.

The immortal stared up at him before barking a laugh, "Even if your wife is a horse? A male horse?" he demanded, wry grin stretching across his face.

A nerve jumped in the demon's cheek, "Even if my wife is a horse," he echoed, his tone only very faintly strained. Sometimes, having a sense of aesthetics was very bothersome, especially as a demon.

Harry laughed, throwing his other arm over his eyes, going boneless on the bed. "Well, who can argue with that?" he asked rhetorically before lifting his arm away and pinning Sebastian with a look, his eyes cold and sharp, "You try to kill me again, I will end you," he warned darkly. He really disliked the filthy unsettled feeling to his magic in the aftermath of a death. It set his skin crawling and his teeth on edge with discomfort.

Sebastian loomed over him, green and red clashing, a shiver of arousal worked its way up the demon's spine.

"Unless you turn against the Young Master, I shall have no reason to," he purred.

Green eyes slid shut in acknowledgement.

_**000**_

Ciel arched an eyebrow as breakfast was presented to him by a positively glowing Sebastian, the young Earl could only frown in confusion before deciding that he really didn't want to know what would put a demon into such a good mood. As long as he would follow orders, then Ciel didn't care what he did in his free time. The breakfast though, was a pleasant surprise. French toast, fruit salad, and a good cup of tea – that more than anything told him that Sebastian had not had a hand in preparing said breakfast. It seemed as though Harriet had already proved her worth. Simple, well made, and delicious. Not to mention good presentation.

After breakfast, Ciel had a carriage summoned and the trio went to London. Harriet (he must get into the habit of thinking and knowing the immortal as such) was once again wearing the same charcoal grey dress as yesterday, her thick curly black hair pulled back into a simple bun. Ciel tried not to let his eyes linger on the very obvious bite marks that patterned both sides of her neck and very obviously dropped down below the neckline of her dress. His eyes traitorously slid over to Sebastian who was still looking entirely too pleased with himself.

It didn't take much guess work to figure out what happened last night and he found himself torn between disgust and mild amusement.

Sebastian would always follow his orders, to the T.

"It will be easier to visit Miss Hopkins first of all," Ciel decided as the carriage trotted through the steadily thickening number of buildings. They weren't far off London, "I also have some business at the offices, Sebastian you are to accompany me while Harriet remains with Miss Hopkins for her fitting. After which we shall stop at her former residence to collect her personals."

"Of course Young Master," Sebastian demurred.

"Yes, my Lord," Harriet intoned, she did look exhausted, just how long had Sebastian been... occupied?

Harriet shifted a tad uncomfortably as the carriage bumped a pothole. It was certainly safe to say his new husband was in no way human. Humans could not maintain that level of sexual activity for six hours straight! Fuck, even he couldn't – he was quite certain there was a moment when he had, in fact, blacked out. He was covered in bite marks, looking more like a leopard than a human, and he ached abominably.

It had been good though.

In all of his many long years, he had never been with someone so talented in the bedroom.

Oh there were a few _very_ gifted individuals he remembered fondly, that one mafia member several centuries and time periods away was a good example. There was also the wolf-demon more recently, but things hadn't worked out when he wanted to legitimately Mate. Something that Harry refused to do, resulting in a dominance battle and – ahh, it was complicated, and messy, and full of heartbreak. And then during his stint as a prostitute he had gotten rather close with a young lady working the otherside of the red light district who would do this, quite frankly euphoric, thing with her hips that never failed to please.

He kind of wished that he hadn't left so many visible bruises on his neck though, it was particularly indecent in this day and age. He would have made more of a complaint when they happened but his neck was a particularly sensitive area, vulnerable especially given just whose mouth was there.

Meeting Nina Hopkins was... an experience.

At least for the poor little Earl. Harry was well used to eccentric characters, so the lesbian fashion designer was of no issue to him, even when she was cheerfully molesting his breasts and crowing unhappily about Sebastian marking up his 'beautiful creamy skin'. The measuring process didn't take long, but the designing process did, Harry had to veto several of them for being too skimpy or bitsy – these were work clothes. They should be sturdy, functional, and above all else, professional, he had to keep repeating. He was happy to buy some casual wear from her out of his own pocket, but she would have to wait until he had earned enough money to pay for it.

Either way, the two of them stayed in her shop until Sebastian and Ciel returned, the latter looking incensed, and the former mildly amused. Harry bid the designer goodbye and was told her uniforms would be delivered the following week. Harry told her that was fine, she had plenty of perfectly serviceable shirts and trousers she could wear in the meantime. She then wheeled around and gave Sebastian a dressing down about bruising a young lady's skin and the demon set poor Ciel to traffic light red with his cheeky rejoinder of 'well she certainly didn't complain at the time'. Harry subtly stepped on his foot, just enough for everyone to notice but not make a big deal out of, before leading them out of the shop.

Poor Ciel was utterly mortified as they marched through the streets to a small wayhouse that Harry led them to.

Sebastian watched him with a gimlet eye as the housekeeper went in to collect his belongings – only to slip out the back, and down into the sewer systems.

The demon smirked, "It seems Harriet has opted to escape, once again," he observed, watching as Ciel's face reddened with outrage only to stop and then stare grumpily at him, taking in the very smug expression on the butler's face.

"You know where she's going," he observed severely.

He shook his head, "No. Not yet anyway."

Last night had more of a purpose than simply dealing with an itch he never noticed he had, or picking on Harriet. Sebastian had poured enough of his essence into the immortal to not only irrevocably corrupt his soul, but to also make it impossible for him to ever hide from him. After all, a demon can track its own essence. It was how he was _always_ aware of the Young Master and could always hear him if called. He wasn't some common Incubus who was incapable of controlling said essence so as not to impregnate mortal women either, Succubus were little better in that they chose whether or not to carry their young to term – often times they didn't, those who did, abandoned said young within the slums of whatever city they lived in. There were more than a few half-demons skulking about the shadows and backalleys of London, their reek was impossible to ignore to a nose as sensitive as his. With his essence draping over the Young Master in chain-like shadows of hunger, they would not dare encroach upon his future meal, and Harriet whose scent was being painted over with his own, the cloying possessive grasp of lust would ward them off even further – or draw them in to a messy death.

He smirked, sensing the immortal moving away and smiled down at the Young Master, "Shall we?" he enquired, watching as the boy nodded stiffly, gesturing at him to lead.

Deadly games in the shadows. Greed, deceit, lust, hate, and lies within lies that smell of truths and ring of gospel.

Humans were so interesting.

He wondered if that was why he was drawn so strongly to their Song Bird. The oldest of humans. Who had seen, lived, experienced, and committed the same evils, but also the same goods. An old soul who managed to stand at the complete opposite of the spectrum to him.

Faithfully, he lead the Young Master through the back alleys pausing and tilting his head as they came to the edge of the River Thames. He could feel Harriet moving further and further away under the water and could only assume there was some manner of passage or sewer under the river – most odd, he had been under the impression that the sewers ran _into_ the Thames.

They took the long way round. Walking across London Bridge before Sebastian once again took to the task of tracking down his wife's where-abouts.

He had stopped moving so it wasn't too much of a problem to track him down.

The location though, was something of a surprise.

"Lau's, huh?" Ciel grunted unhappily as he stared up at the business sign over the door, and the red-lanterns hanging from the doorframe.

Sebastian hummed in confirmation, frowning.

There was blood in the air.

_**000**_

**Dun dun, and chapter ends.**

**There was going to be a lemon in this, but then I remembered ffnet's stance on them and removed it. I hate writing lemons in the first place so I don't care XDDD**


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